


Kerrano

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Epistolary, F/M, M/M, Spoilers, Spoilers for Nearly Every Episode, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon plays Cyrano de Bergerac to help Vila win Blake's affections. I know this sounds cracky, but I played it seriously. Well, seriously cracky. Pretty much everything that happens in canon episodes happens, up until the end of the series where this continues, BUT there are scenes that weren't filmed, and Avon's thoughts, to change your view of canon.</p><p>Note: The rape started out consensual, but there was a change of mind, which the partner did not honor. No always means no. Even in the middle of things. Still no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kerrano

**Author's Note:**

> Also Note: Avon does not have an ugly or oversized nose. It's long, high-bridged and unique. But self-image is a tricky thing, so Avon's convinced himself it's ugly and he lets people see he's sensitive about it, so whenever anyone dislikes him, that's a convenient vulnerability to exploit.
> 
> And canonically, Vila never talked like he does at the beginning. I needed him to do it for the sake of the story.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Vila looked about the confines of the Civil Adminstration Ship _London_ , a pokey old scow on its last legs, giving convicts a one-way cruise to Cygnus Alpha- no doubt the garden spot of the universe. Still, things could be worse. He had a deck of cards and his wits. Both had served him well in many a prison-yard, but usually his companions were petty thieves, Gamma-grades being punished for trying to break into food dispensers, small-time con-artists, and the like, never anyone violent. 

He shuddered, quickly looking away from several murderers who were standing together talking quietly, but with increasingly frequent looks in the direction of one of the three Alpha prisoners. Vila didn't know what they were discussing, and he didn't want to know. He was just glad they weren't looking at him. He turned his mind to happier thoughts.

"Gan!" he cried out, cheerily, seeing the one murderer on the ship he trusted. "Oi! Over 'ere, I've got the cards."

"Good." Gan came over and casually moved two cots together to make a convenient playing surface. The usual occupants of the cots made no protest when he smiled and asked for the loan.

That was the best thing about Gan, the way people just naturally moved aside for him. If you were his friend and standing in his shadow, you were safe, too.

There was a brief squabble near the door, and Gan looked up, frowning, to see one of the guards kissing Nova. Gan rumbled, and started to get to his feet. Vila was quick to say, "No, 's all right. Really." And he hung onto Gan's sleeve long enough for them to see Nova smile back at the guard and go off with him willingly.

Gan shook his head and sat down, his frown turned into a grimace of distaste. 

Vila said, sharply,"This isn't Zephron, you know." Misplaced morals were likely to be fatal on a prison ship.

"But... he's only a boy..."

"He's a boy wot likes men," Vila corrected. "And he's not that young. 'e's been makin' up to that guard ever since we left Earth, only usually in the middle of the night-shift." Vila gave Gan a sidelong glance. "Easy to tell you've a clear conscience. Slept through some right orgies, you did, in the last couple of months. But then, I wasn't invited, either." Vila sighed. "He's so pretty, he doesn't 'ave any trouble making friends." Vila let out an even louder sigh.

"I'm your friend," Gan replied, putting a hand on Vila's shoulder.

"Not _that _kind. I want a...well...you know... _really_ close friend." Vila looked over at the other two Alphas- not the one the murderers were staring at. Vila sighed again.__

__Gan followed his gaze back to Blake and Jenna. "Well, why don't you go over and say hello?"_ _

__"I tried, back in the transit cell. Didn't work. I jus' don't know 'ow to talk to Alphas."_ _

__

____

***

Blake was earnestly telling Jenna how the prisoners could be made into a cohesive fighting unit, given proper leadership.

Jenna was doubtful, but figured they didn't really have all that much to lose. She certainly didn't. Considering the scarcity of women on prison planets, she was expecting a short, unpleasant life, unless she was really unlucky and wound up with a long, unpleasant life. Raiker would be a lot easier to discourage than some half-savage brute and his friends.

***

"They're gettin' on like a Dome on fire," Vila said, really discouraged. "I 'aven't a chance, can't even get a look in. If only I could _talk_ like one of them toffs." And he let out an even louder sigh.

Gan's forehead screwed up in thought. "Well, maybe Avon could give you some advice." He pointed to the Alpha who was pretending to read something. Gan assumed he was pretending because he'd been looking at the same bit of paper for days now.

Vila gave Gan a _look_. " 'im! Did you 'ear what 'e said to Arco? An' Arco was only asking wot time it was!"

"No, what did he say?" Gan asked, but he was still looking at Avon. The Alpha looked more preoccupied than hostile.

"He said that animals judged time by their stomachs, primitive men by the stars, and idiots by other men's chronometers."

"So he doesn't like Arco. That doesn't mean he'll bite your head off if you ask for help." Gan got up and tugged Vila to his feet. "I don't want to listen to you sighing all the way to Cygnus. Go on, go ask him."

"All right, all right, don't push." Vila sidled over to Avon, who glanced at him with disinterest, then folded up his paper neatly and stowed it in his top pocket before Vila could see what it was. "Er. You know, it's a long way to Cygnus."

"Yes, I'd heard that," Avon replied.

"And it's even longer if you're alone."

Avon glanced at Vila again, then around at the other convicts. "Hardly alone."

"I mean, friends. You know, everybody needs friends."

"Ah. I'd heard that, also." Avon's attention wandered.

Vila went on doggedly. " _I_ need a friend. A special friend." He lifted his hand to put it on Avon's shoulder, but stopped. Avon was looking at him fully for the first time, and his expression was not encouraging.

"Look elsewhere," he suggested coldly.

"Oh, I didn't mean _you_!" Vila said, shocked that anyone could imagine him wanting this cold fish. 

"Then why are you here?"

"I need your help. I can't talk like an Alpha. I'm always saying the wrong thing and getting laughed at. I want to be taken seriously!"

Avon looked at Blake and Jenna, who were still deep in conversation, ignoring the other prisoners. He shrugged. "Then act seriously."

"I wouldn't ..." Vila shut up, seeing Arco, Selman and several of the murderers approaching. They were obviously intent on Avon, so Vila slipped out of the way, unnoticed. Avon sat up a bit straighter, but said nothing.

Selman looked Avon up and down. "He's an odd duck, isn't he?"

Arco nodded, and said, "Wasn't happy being up there in the clouds. Had to play with the bank's money. Stealing from the accounts of poor, honest, hard-working, labor grades!"

Avon said, "Sorry. I don't remember you from my trial. On the prosecution side, I take it?"

Arco said, "Everybody knows what you did!"

"Ah. And everybody is always right." Avon looked at the men facing him. "So long as 'everybody' has a gang." He rose to his feet. "I imagine it makes things simple, for the simple-minded."

"And you've got a big nose!" Arco said.

Vila froze in his corner. He had seen what happened in the holding cell to a man who had made fun of Avon's nose. It looked like an accident, but how could you fall on the front _and _back of your head at the same time- bounce?__

__"Is that all?" Avon said, calmly._ _

__Arco was puzzled at his reaction. "What do you mean?"_ _

__"It lacks style. Now, if instead you had said. . . 'If I had that nose I'd amputate it!' or ''It's a rock!. . .a boulder!. . .an island! -No, an asteroid!' Perhaps, 'Be careful that weight doesn't make you fall on your face!' or 'Oh, I see you've the latest fashion in hooks to hang your hat on!' or even, 'It would take a hurricane to give that nose a cold!' or 'What a wonderful sign for a perfume-shop!' perhaps, 'When is the monument on view?' or even 'That thing a nose? It must be a dwarf pumpkin, or a prize turnip!' or, 'Put it in a lottery! It would be the biggest prize!' But I suppose one should not expect eloquence from the mentally challenged."_ _

__"Why you..."_ _

__Selman pulled on Arco's arm. "Not now. Later. Night shift," he said, significantly and the six of them moved away to the far side of the room._ _

__Vila slipped back, and found Avon had already taken his seat again, and was writing something upon the paper with a stub of graphite writing stick- poetry, it looked like. Vila peered, and was able to make out the title: 'To my love'. That sounded promising._ _

__" 'ere, I'll pay you for that bit of poem-work," Vila said, regretting it when Avon looked up, angry. "I mean, well, unless you have a use for it... I'd just like to, you know, study it, so's I could...well, you _know_!"_ _

__"So you could seduce an Alpha?" Avon's anger suddenly vanished. "Well, and why not?" He glanced down at the paper. "It's all fantasy, in any case." He folded up the paper, and held it between first and second fingers as if offering it to Vila, then he pulled it back and said, "How will you pay?"_ _

__"You can 'ang out wif' me and Gan."_ _

__Avon winced at Vila's accent. "Why should I consider that worth my while?"_ _

__"Because, well, despite your nose," Vila said, and cringed, but Avon's eyes only narrowed, "there's only two prettier than you on this ship, and Nova's shacked up with a guard, and Jenna'd cut Arco's dick off if 'e messed wif' her."_ _

__"You have a way with words. Not a good way, mind you, but a way. I could be insulted that you consider me less able than Jenna to protect my... 'virtue'."_ _

__"I don't know about your virtue, but Arco's after your arse. They can't get too rough with Jenna, or the whole ship would be after them. Scum as this bunch is, there's still some as wouldn't take kindly to hurting a woman. But you... well, you're not the biggest fellow here, and you've smart-mouthed enough of them that no one would lift a finger to help you."_ _

__Avon's eyes narrowed as he thought over the emphasis on 'night shift'. He was under no illusion as to his skill in the ungentle art of fisticuffs. Particularly not at six-to-one odds. "Well, as I say, this is merely a fantasy. I can easily write others to amuse myself." He gave Vila the paper. "I think you will find some changes are in order if you are to use that to seduce Jenna."_ _

___Vila eagerly read the paper._

>   
>  _To My Love_
> 
> _I haven't the right to call you that, but it is the truth. It frightens me, how completely you hold my heart, all unknowing, and how easily you could destroy me. You will not have guessed my feelings. I was never allowed to show them and learned all too well how to hide behind the mask of wit. I found solace in old writings, ancient romantic tales, and now, the words of love can only find outlet in this way, in the language of a bygone day, traced letter by letter onto fragile paper._
> 
> _You would laugh on reading this, thinking of the manner of my usual speech. Flowery sentiment, from me? I can be eloquent here, for paper does not judge my unworthiness._
> 
> _How should I live if you knew how I feel and did not return it? At least in the silence you are not laughing at me._
> 
> _But if I could, I would tell you how the thunder of your voice affects me, how it makes my heart pulse to the rhythms of your speech. I would tell you how the sight of your broad chest, gleaming in the showers of this miserable prison barge, forces me to turn to the wall, so that no one may notice how much I desire you._
> 
> _If I could._
> 
> _If I dared, I would tell you how jealous I am of any attention you give the others. How I hate the guards who dare to punish you for your boldness. How I wish I could take you into my confidence, tell you secrets that might, perhaps, preserve your life a little longer. You risk too much, and I need what you are so profligate at sharing with the universe._
> 
> _I want you, and yet, I know it's impossible. We are worlds apart, not only in all the outward ways, but in the inward workings of our minds._
> 
> _I could wish it were only your body I desired, only the strength of those massive arms, only the sweetness of your full lips. That, I could perhaps find elsewhere._
> 
> _But it's far more than that. I can't believe in your dreams, I've seen too much to have any illusions left. But I believe in you. Would that be enough, to believe in the dreamer, if not in the dream?_
> 
> _In all the ways one living soul can yearn for another, I yearn for you. I am a fool._
> 
> _But I fear I am, and always will be,_
> 
> _Your fool._  
> 

"Oh, this is about a bloke! That's fine. It's not Jenna I'm after. I don't want _my_ dick snipped!"

__"Then?" Avon frowned and followed Vila's gaze. "Blake?" he said in astonishment._ _

__"Sure, that's the one." Vila smiled. "I do love a nice, fat cock, and 'e's fully equipped, if you know what I mean." Vila lifted an elbow to nudge Avon in the ribs. "Eh, Alphas don't talk like that, do they?" He gave Avon a wistful look._ _

__Avon glared at Vila, then looked at Blake, innocently chattering about revolution to Jenna. "No. We also do not go around elbowing each other."_ _

__"Look," Vila said eagerly, "you teach me, you know, like, how to talk posh, and what to do, and what not to do, and I'll make it worth your while. I can teach you 'ow to open what locks you can't tickle with a computer, and 'ow to win at cards, and... well, all sorts of things that'll be a whole lot more handy on a prison planet than working a computer, in a place wot's got none."_ _

__"Pygmalion," Avon muttered._ _

__"I may not be fancy-pants, but there's no need to be calling me a pig! I wash regular, I do!"_ _

__Avon looked at Blake. "All right. The accent first."_ _

__

____

***

Avon watched Blake, while trying not to seem as if he was watching. Vila had gone up to Blake the next day under cover of the meeting of the unofficial Escape Under Roj Blake's Leadership club, and slipped the love-letter into Blake's hand. He would have done it the day before, but Avon insisted Vila rewrite the missive, as a matter of common prudence.

Avon was... well, curious to see what affect the letter would have. It would be instructive. As Avon reasoned it, there were three likely responses. Blake would be angry-possibly to the point of violence-, flattered, or indifferent. Since Blake appeared to be one of the strongest contenders for troublemaking, it would be wise to study him, to learn how he was likely to react under stress. The fact that he was...interesting to Avon on a personal level was entirely beside the point.

Blake turned his back to the guards, casually, in the way that had become almost instinctive to the _London's_ cargo (passengers being a laughable term for this shabby group). Avon watched Blake just as casually, while outwardly listening to yet another shipboard lecturer. Something about a captive audience seemed to bring out the soap-box speaker in most of the prisoners. Ths was fortunate for Blake, as his gatherings were lost in the general social swarm.

Blake's back was singularly uninformative. But not entirely unaesthetic. 

Ah. The broad back shifted, and the curly head turned. A fairly fast reader, then, if not in Avon's page-at-a-glance category.

Blake turned. Vila was standing a few feet away, with Gan beside him. Apparently, Vila's survival sense was keen enough to factor in the one-third possibility of Blake attempting to render Vila's sexual orientation an academic point.

Avon's vision narrowed. All he saw was Blake's face, in three-quarter profile from Avon's point of view. Blake seemed to be thinking the implied offer over.

Avon held his breath.

Blake suddenly broke into a grin, and laughed out loud.

Avon's heart skipped several beats. Was Blake _that_ sort- the kind who would mock...Ah. No. Blake went to Vila and slung a companionable arm over the delta's shoulder.

Avon looked away as the two of them casually, oh, so casually, went off in the direction of the shower-room. A bitter taste rose in the back of Avon's throat, but he refused to give in to the sensation. The loo was too close to the shower-room.

Well.

So much for that.

Fantasies were for deltas, anyway.

But the bitter taste remained.

***

For a brief while, after they lucked into possession of the _Liberator_ Avon had Blake almost to himself, if you didn't count Jenna, and it was obvious that Blake didn't. It wasn't obvious to Jenna, which was just as well, when you consider that she was the only pilot.

Of course, Blake was all business as they explored the ship, but perhaps, later Avon might...

No, he wouldn't. He knew he wouldn't say anything to Blake, even if they were the only occupants of a deserted planet. It should be enough that Blake valued Avon's advice. That he found Avon's expertise useful.

It would have to be enough. Avon was _not_ going to expose himself to ridicule. And then, Blake insisted on going to Cygnus Alpha to pick up 'crew'. Avon argued against it, and lost. Blake was determined. 

Blake wanted Vila back. Avon looked ahead to an intolerable future, sharing the ship with Vila and Blake, still obligated to write love-letters for Vila, still forced to pretend he felt nothing for Blake. 

A cold, sick fury grew within him, but as usual, he didn't show what he felt. Instead, he tried to convince Jenna to abandon Blake. With Blake's charisma the man would probably be running the place in a month. He'd be safe, and far from Avon.

Avon even attempted to seduce Jenna. It was a rough and ready offer, but then, she'd come from a rough background. Unfortunately, she refused to give up on Blake.

More fool her.

Then Blake came back, with his lover and Gan. All the people who knew about the letters. There was no way out for Avon.

***

"Avon!" Blake called from one of the rooms Avon had not yet explored. He was sitting on a table, surrounded by alien machinery.

"Blake?" Avon replied politely. He had been on his way to the flight deck, to help Jenna familiarize Gan and Vila with the instruments. He wasn't precisely looking forward to it. Vila was quick, but he was lazy, and Gan's slow, stolid perseverance was just as annoying to Avon, who hated having to methodically explain every little detail. Particularly when a lot of it involved guess-work. "This is the medical unit?" Avon glanced around, mildly interested. Then it occurred to him that if they were actually going to be fighting Blake's revolution, it would be wise to make certain the equipment functioned. He hoped it was as automated as the rest of the ship. "Good idea, we should..." Then his glance fell on Blake, for the first time noting the other man's pallor and the dull look in his eyes. "You're in pain."

"I need assistance." Blake gave Avon a faint smile. "I hadn't meant to bother anyone, but I find that I can't raise my arms enough to get this tunic off."

There were dark patches on the leather that Avon had taken for sweat. He reassessed and said, "Don't try. I'll cut it off." He found what seemed a reasonable facsimile for shears and approached Blake. "The replicators can easily duplicate the tunic, but human skin is a rarer commodity."

"Ah!" Blake said as Avon began snipping.

Avon stopped.

"Go on," Blake said.

"Perhaps you would rather I call one of the others?"

"Jenna's busy flying the ship."

"Vila?"

"Faints at the sight of blood."

"I could get Gan."

Blake smiled. "Are you squeamish?"

"Not in the slightest," Avon lied. "Hold still, then." He proceeded to thoroughly ruin Blake's tunic and shirt. Blake made only a few, soft noises during the process.

Avon stared at Blake's back in silence for a long moment. Then he looked aside at the blinking monitor set into the side of the table and said, "According to this computer, the damage is superficial. It says one treatment with the skin regenerator will suffice." He held up a small tool from the tray full of materials that had appeared from beneath the table and compared it to the diagram on the monitor. "Seems a straight-forward procedure."

"That's good. AH!"

"Antiseptic. I doubt that whatever did this was sterilized." Avon kept his stomach under stern control as he washed away dried blood, revealing a pattern of incised cuts.

"I tend to... agree with you."

"No, you don't, which is how you wound up in that situation in the first place." 

"Thanks. I'll take care of it myself." Blake reached for the regenerator.

Avon pulled it back out of reach. "Not unless you're triple-jointed. Come on, if you could stand this, you can stand listening to me."

"Your tongue is sharper."

Avon laughed. "Thank you." Avon finished using the regenerator and surveyed the once more smooth, seal-sleek, perfection of Blake's back. He ran his hand down it once. He didn't want to, but he needed to reassure himself that the damage he was at least partly responsible for had been repaired. "Still sensitive there?" he asked, as Blake jumped.

"No. It was just... unexpected." Blake turned and gave Avon an assessing look. "Thank you."

"Oh, any time." Avon gave a false smile. "I don't mind patching up other people's hides. It's my own I'm protective about."

"I'll remember that," Blake said, sliding off the treatment table, and flexing his back-muscles tentatively before he left the room. 

Avon stood there for several minutes before he was able to shake off the mental images of Blake, being tortured. And saying nothing about it to any of them. The man was either mad, or a saint. Or both.

Which was probably why Avon loved him.

***

Avon was alone on the flight deck couch of the _Liberator_ in the quiet dimness of the artificially maintained fiction of a 'night'. Well, alone if you didn't count Gan, off in a corner taking lessons from Orac. _Waste of a perfectly good computer,_ he thought, folding his arms in front of his chest, and crossing one leg over the other as he gazed at the vastness of space. Waste of his life, too. Seemingly endless expanse and here he was, out of all those millions of spatials, on this ship of fools.

He must have said something of that aloud, for Gan rose and said, "Well, if you feel that way, why don't you leave?"

Avon rolled his eyes in Gan's direction. "Would you believe I haven't anywhere better to go?"

"No," Gan replied calmly. He brought over a pitcher and two glasses. "Vila's latest brew," he explained.

"I doubt it would suit my palate," Avon replied, looking back at the stars.

"Because Vila's only a Delta, and you're an Alpha?"

Avon didn't bother to answer.

"You taught him better than you know."

Avon frowned. "Better than I should have," he said softly. "There was a certain element of challenge in it, you see. _Can_ one turn a sow's ear into a silk purse, if one is very, very clever? Too clever," he said bitterly.

"Blake likes it," Gan said as he poured the two glasses, seeing Avon stiffen at the name.

"Yes, well, he would. Despite his Alpha status, he has rather egalitarian tastes." Avon picked up the glass, as if absent-mindedly, and tried it. "Not bad."

"Vila's very grateful to you."

Avon frowned into the glass. "I don't know why. Blake risks Vila's life as often as the rest of us, even though they share quarters at night." He gave Gan a faint smile. "I should have liked to have seen it, the time Jenna lost her patience and walked in on Blake, and found them together."

Gan winced. "No, you wouldn't. I was in the corridor, and heard most of it. I didn't know half the words Jenna used."

Avon gave Gan a grin. "Well, then, at least it was an educational experience for you." He lifted the glass and drank. "I've heard it all before."

Gan blinked. "What do you mean?"

Another large swallow, and Avon put his head back and shut his eyes. "If you would really like to know why I stay on this albatross of a ship, doomed to destruction- no doubt in the very near future- you need look no further than the master's cabin. At the master, himself." Avon opened his eyes, and lifted the glass, peering into it. "Vila's brew is stronger than I thought. Pay no attention, Gan. Wine makes me talkative, it seems."

"You mean, you're like Vila and Blake?"

Avon laughed. "I wouldn't put it that way. Vila is a sexual omnivore who simply fancies Blake's anatomy. Blake is... Blake is unsure of himself, and he needs a nice, simple relationship."

"But they don't love each other?"

Avon shrugged. "How do I know? What I know of love wouldn't fill this glass." Avon looked at the glass in surprise. "Which is empty, by the way."

Silently, Gan refilled Avon's glass. "But you love Blake?" Gan drank his own wine to encourage Avon.

Avon drank the glass halfway at a gulp, then laid his head back along the seat. "Sometimes. And sometimes I hate him."

"When do you hate him?"

"Generally, when his latest plan has nearly got him... got us...got _me_ killed. Really, this wine isn't half-bad." Without opening his eyes, he held the glass out for a refill, and Gan obliged, filling his own at the same time.

"So why did you help Vila to... well, to seduce Blake?"

Avon's hand went up, striking somewhere in the middle of his face. "This." 

"Your nose?" Gan said, puzzled.

"For lack of a better word. This appendage that proceeds me." Avon paused, pleased that he'd been able to get the words out.

"You don't like your nose and that's why you helped Vila seduce the man you love?" Gan was still confused. "It doesn't sound like a very good reason to me." Gan poured himself another glass of wine.

Avon shook his head. "You are straight, Gan, as straight as a piece of string. To you a nose is a convenient thing to keep your eyes from falling into your mouth. Vila's more of a leg man, and oh, what Blake has between his legs is also on Vila's menu. I'm... well, they call it bisexual, but in my case, it simply means I'm capable of making a fool of myself for either sex. Blake is gay. Blake has never wanted a woman in his life. He has..." Avon paused to hiccup and stare into the wineglass in surprise. "Blake... what was I saying?"

"Blake has something," Gan prompted, amiably. "You know, this really is good wine."

Avon nodded, and stuck his tongue out, concentrating. "Blake has... oh, god, Blake has..." His eyes glazed over in reminisce of the _London's _shower-room, then Avon shook his head. "No, you're not intra..intersed in what Blake has. I mean, Blake is gay."__

__Gan nodded intelligently._ _

__"And being gay, he nashurally wants a good-looking man. Not one with a pinched turnip for a nose." Avon looked down. "My glass is empty again," he said mournfully._ _

__With care, Gan filled Avon's glass, getting most of the wine into it. "You're a good-looking man." Gan paused. "I think."_ _

__"But you're not gay."_ _

__"Well, no, I'm not," Gan said, apologetically._ _

__Avon nodded. "So there it is." He swatted his nose. "I do well in the gay bars, when the light's right. Can't keep the lights turned down on the flight-deck all the time, can I?"_ _

__Gan thought about it. "No, I guess not."_ _

__"There it is," Avon said again, sliding down the seat._ _

__"I guess you're right," Gan said, sliding down so that he was cuddled with Avon's head on his lap._ _

__

____

***

"You, too!"

Jenna's voice rang loud and clear, like the clarion call of brazen trumpets.

Avon flinched and covered his ears, using his fingertips to try to press the throbbing back into his skull before it leaked out onto the flight deck. "Not so loud," he begged.

Jenna kicked Gan's legs, and the big man fell off the flight deck couch with a thump and a groan, said groan being repeated by Avon as his head hit the soft cushion with what he felt was concussive force.

Gan opened his eyes part-way and then shut them, moaning pitifully when Jenna prodded him in the ribs with one pointy-toed boot. She stamped her foot and said, "Well?"

"Not very," Avon whispered, managing, by great strength of will, to pry his eyelids open far enough to see Jenna's enraged face. "Don't shout."

"Just tell me! Are you and Gan fruits?"Jenna leaned close, so close that her musk-and-roses perfume made Avon swallow convulsively. He was sure he was pea-green, and his eyes felt like peeled onions. 

"More vegetable," Avon replied, feeling his eyelids sandpapering their way shut. He heard Jenna's intake of breath for another shout, and forestalled it with, "Gan's not gay. I'm none too happy at the moment, either. Fetch an analgesic, and Gan will be yours for life."

Jenna looked down at Gan, eyes raking up and down his quivering body. "All right, it's a bargain." She turned and left the flight deck.

Gan asked, "Did you just sell me to Jenna for a hangover remedy?"

"Yes."

Gan was silent for a moment, then he said, "I hope she brings one for me."

***

> _My Love,_
> 
> _It may seem foolish to you that I keep writing these letters, but it is the only way I can truly express myself. On the flight deck, you are the Leader, and I am only the reluctant follower._
> 
> _In your cabin...  
>  _

Avon paused. He didn't know the details of Vila's trysts with Blake. Vila would have cheerfully revealed all, but Avon had been torn between wanting any scrap of intimate information to fuel his own private fantasies, and not wanting to think of Vila in Blake's arms. He erased the last three words.

> _  
> ...only the reluctant follower._
> 
> _I could wish that things were different, that we were free to shout our love to the universe. I could wish that I were different, as free to speak my mind as you are, but then you look at me, and in your eyes, I can see that it doesn't matter._
> 
> _As long as we are together, nothing matters._
> 
> _As always,_
> 
> _I am Yours_
> 
> __

Avon looked the missive over critically. Not romantic enough. Or too romantic, depending on your definition. He'd have to Delta it a bit, before handing it on to Vila for re-writing. Perhaps something about running his fingers through Blake's curls... Avon sighed and picked up his graphite writing stick again.

***

Avon frowned at Vila, who was trying to seduce Tyce. President Sarkoff's joviality was wearing a bit thin, seeing the Delta's arm around his daughter's shoulders. Residual Alpha-manners impelled Avon to his feet to rescue his 'guests'. "Vila!" Avon said sharply. "I need you."

"Oh, no, I'm off-duty."

"Aren't you always?" Avon grasped Vila's free arm and tugged. "Now, Vila."

"Oh, all right. I'll be back later, pretty lady," Vila said to Tyce, who seemed more amused than offended.

"You need me?" Vila said, smirking, once they were down the corridor from the flight deck.

"There have been unexpected variations in the flux-capacitors," Avon said, truthfully. "I could use your assistance in recalibrating them," he added slightly less truthfully.

Vila stopped and pouted. "I thought _you_ needed me! I'm going back," he announced.

"Vila!"

"Look, Avon, maybe you can get by without any..." Vila looked abruptly ashamed. "Sorry."

"What? Blake's not enough for you?" Avon said, with a bitterness he tried to hide.

"Blake gets busy."

"And I'm not?" 

"You're here, aren't you?" Vila grew more confident, as Avon hesitated.

Vila's lips had kissed Blake, his arms had held Blake, his --well, Avon wasn't certain Vila's cock had taken Blake, but Blake might be more amenable in bed than on the flight-deck. It had been such a long time, and even second-hand intimacy was incredibly tempting.

Vila grinned. "C'mon, I won't tell anyone."

"There isn't anything to tell." Avon started to turn, but as he was going, Vila sighed, shrugged, and put one knuckle to his mouth. For an instant Blake stood there, and Avon's legs refused to carry him away. "My quarters," he bit out.

Vila had enough sense not to gloat as he followed Avon down the corridor, staying silent until the door to Avon's private quarters locked behind them. "You've got some nice pieces," Vila commented then, glancing around at the decorative valuables Avon had taken from the treasure-room to display in his own rooms. 

Avon smoothly took the ruby-and-emerald encrusted gold mask from Vila's hands and placed it back on the shelf. "Yes, and I like them where they are."

"Let's see what other treasures you have," Vila said, stepping into the circle of Avon's arms.

Avon shut his eyes and moaned softly as Vila began a leisurely exploration of Avon's face, with delicate finger-strokes and soft, wet kisses. "You do have a beautiful mouth, you know," Vila whispered, holding Avon's face between his hands.

"What..." Avon forced himself to open his eyes. This wasn't Blake, and he would not lie to himself. It was only sex. "What would you like me to do with it?"

"Kiss me first."

Avon shut his eyes again, but then he always shut them when he kissed. He hated to see his nose digging into his lover's cheek, making him wonder if he/she was secretly laughing at him. Vila wouldn't care. All Vila wanted was physical sensation. If only that were all Avon wanted, but every day he fell more under Blake's spell. Fighting his obsession, he kissed and sucked on Vila's mouth. _I'm not betraying Blake, not stealing what's his, I created the Vila that Blake loves. I've a right to this much._ He kissed and licked and sucked, Blake's face constantly before him.

Hands pushed urgently on his shoulders so Avon knelt to face Vila's stiff-standing cock, rising out of carelessly opened trousers, belt-buckle flopping at one side. Vila had grown to quite a respectable length. In Avon's gay-bar days, he would have hesitated, thinking how ridiculous he'd look with his nose buried in another man's pubic hair, but all he could think was, _Blake touched it._ Avon gulped it down, his throat muscles opening wide to accept the thick head, tongue lashing at the underside ridge, teasing the pulsing veins. Vila tasted good, salty and moist with anticipation. Avon kept one hand on Vila's hip for balance as Vila began thrusting, but his other hand went down to his own aching penis. He rubbed along the zipper, pressing down, forcing himself to wait, to suffer for it. He was used to that, used to thinking of Blake and suffering for it.

Vila clutched at Avon's shoulder, and groaned, then he panted, "No, no, Avon. I want... I want..." and he pushed Avon back, freeing his cock to sway and jerk between them, flushed an angry, impatient red.

Avon shook his head. "What?" he asked, and saw the answer in Vila's eyes. 

"I want you naked. I want... I want..." Vila licked his lips, his eyes fever-bright. "I want to fuck you up the arse until you scream."

"Do you..." Avon couldn't complete the question, dropping his eyes to stare instead at the honesty of Vila's penis that wanted him, in all the ways Blake would never think to want him.

"Sometimes. Not too often, though." Vila reached down to touch Avon's hair gently, and in his eyes was the one thing Avon truly could not abide. Pity. "You like Blake, don't you?" he said, as in revelation.

Avon's lip curled. "That word hardly covers how I feel about our 'fearless leader'," he said as sharply as he could. _True enough. There's a world of difference between liking and loving._

"That's all right, then," Vila said, reassured. "Let me see you, Avon."

Avon hadn't planned on this, had thought to do the deed as quickly and impersonally as possible, but now he had to distract Vila. He knelt up and took off his tunic and shirt, running his hands over his chest, pinching at the nipples while he stared up into Vila's eyes. 

Vila gulped, and ripped off his own gaudy patchwork tunic. He had no shirt beneath and his nipples were already tight little peaks, making triangular shadows across his surprisingly well-muscled chest. He moved aside from Avon, and kicked off his shoes, yanked off thick white socks, and pulled down his gaping trousers, catching his underwear with them and dragging it all off in one tangled heap, which he nearly tripped over.

"What's the hurry?" Avon said, rising to his feet with deliberate grace. He undid his belt and unzipped, pushing his underwear down to pull his erection free.

"Don't want you to change your mind." Vila licked his lips again. "You've got a beautiful arse, too, Avon."

_I suppose that means my cock isn't in Blake's class._ Avon smiled and went to the bed, sitting down to pull off his boots. Before he had the first one halfway off, Vila was there, kneeling at his feet and tugging on the polished black leather. 

"Let me do it. Let me do everything."

Avon resisted for a moment, then he leaned back, letting his hands take the weight of his upper body as Vila deftly removed tight-fitting boots, and black silken socks. Vila sat astride his lap then, kissing him and running his hands through Avon's hair. Instinctively, Avon raised his own hands to return the caress and found himself flat on the bed with Vila atop him, their erections grinding together. He hung onto Vila's hips and thrust, mindlessly.

In an admirable display of self-control, Vila got off Avon long enough to completely remove Avon's sweat-clinging leather trousers and crumpled underwear. "You _are_ beautiful," Vila said, sitting back on his heels at the bedside to survey his handiwork.

Avon turned his head into the pillow, hiding his nose, that damnable beast. Even Anna had stared at first, until she became accustomed to it. Vila didn't care. Vila only wanted Avon's arse. Well, then, let him have it. Avon rolled over onto his belly, forcing his hot and dripping prick into the sheets. The discomfort seemed right, only what he deserved, after all, for being such a fool as to love Blake. He parted his legs and waited.

Behind him, Vila gasped, then he crawled over Avon and snatched up a tube from the bedside table with a precision that spoke an intimate acquaintance with Avon's quarters. _So much for locks, and alarms,_ Avon managed to think before several blunt fingers were probing between his cheeks, spreading a layer of lubricant. 

"Such a pretty arse," Vila muttered, getting himself settled with his legs between Avon's.

Avon tensed, as his legs were spread further apart and a hot body leaned over him. One hand went to his left shoulder, gripping tight. "So smooth, so soft," Vila crooned, as something larger and hotter than fingers pressed against Avon's opening.

Suddenly Avon changed his mind and started to get up, but it was too late as a fat prick-head entered. He said, "No!" and started to struggle in earnest.

"Shh, sweetheart," Vila crooned in his ear, voice deepened with lust. Avon froze, hearing Blake in those rich, warm tones. Vila took advantage of the moment and thrust hard, fully sheathing himself.

It hurt, unexpectedly so. Avon had forgotten how long it had been since a man had taken him, and Vila hadn't prepared him properly. He cried out, his penis softening from the pain, but Vila did not notice, too taken up with his own pleasure. "Oooh," Vila moaned, both hands now clutching Avon's shoulders with bruising force, driving his cock in up to the balls with each hard, quick thrust.

Avon flopped on the bed, getting his hands under him and managing to lever his upper body free of the sheets. "No! Vila!" he shouted, but Vila was beyond hearing anything except the pounding of his own heart as his blood rushed to his groin and his balls gathered to press against the base of his cock. Another lunge and Avon gathered first one, then his other knee under himself. The change in position made Vila falter for an instant, but then he resumed riding Avon as hard as before.

It didn't hurt as much now, though, as Avon's body finally remembered being stretched. Vila battered his way in again, and the angle now made Vila's knob collide with Avon's prostate, sending a throb of sensation to Avon's limp penis, which twitched and began to rise again. Avon didn't want it now. All he wanted was for Vila to finish and get out of him, to end the humiliation of letting himself be used like a ten-credit whore. Vila grunted and heaved and sweated, working Avon's arse thoroughly. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Vila wailed, "oh, what a sweet tight arse. Just a little more, darlin', oh, it's so good, so good..."

Avon stopped protesting, and concentrated on keeping his balance, biting his lip against the pain. _Only pain_ he told himself when his eyes clouded over. _Not because it's not Blake! It's just that it hurts._ His penis filled, and he hated the animal part of himself that responded with false pleasure. 

Vila's hands loosened their death-grip on his shoulders once Avon stopped fighting. One went back to his hip, securing him as Vila's pumping became rougher and faster and deeper. The other dove underneath, and gripped Avon's cock, pulling another unacknowledged cry from Avon's lips. The hand tightened and squeezed rhythmically, forcing Avon to thrust into it, compelling him to move as Vila wanted, slamming himself back onto that thick Delta cock, assisting in his own rape.

Avon screamed when he came, an outraged sound of helpless fury, and it seemed to spur Vila on, for a rapid flurry of pumps up Avon's arse followed, until Vila yelled and finally stilled, turning to dead weight atop Avon, snoring almost before he finished pumping his seed into Avon.

Even then it wasn't over, for Avon had to wait for Vila to soften, then he had to pull himself free, shoving the limp body to one side and crawling out of the bed to lie gasping on the deck until he regained the feeling in his legs and could get to his shower.

He stood in the shower a long time, eyes shut, leaning against the wall unmoving, trying desperately not to think. _This is what comes of sentiment. It's not Vila's fault. It's mine. I could have controlled the situation, but I had to be thinking of Blake. Always Blake. He'll be the death of me, yet._

"Avon?" 

Vila. Worried. _Probably thinks I'm going to kill him._ Avon opened his eyes. Vila was standing there just outside the shower, naked and cringing, eyes child-wide, and child-frightened. Avon just looked at him, too tired to decide what expression his face should be showing.

Whatever it was, Vila's fear fled, and he stepped into the shower and wrapped his arms around Avon, tentatively. Avon just stood there. "I hurt you," Vila finally said, rubbing gently at Avon's back.

"Does Blake treat you that way?" Avon was appalled at the question, hadn't even realized he was going to speak.

"No." After a moment, Vila said, "He's never hurt me. He..." Vila gulped. "He's in love with me, because of your letters."

Avon nodded. At least that much he'd done right. 

Vila stroked Avon's wet hair, and pulled his head to lie on Vila's shoulder. Avon was still unresisting. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then I'll get dressed and get the porta-med to check you over."

Avon didn't even bother nodding, but let Vila take charge. After all, what more could Vila do?

***

"Nothing torn," Vila said with relief, after using the portable scanner. Avon was lying on his belly on the bed, on clean sheets that Vila had carefully put on and smoothed flat. Vila used the tissue regenerator on Avon's bruises and scratches, then turned him over and ran the device over Avon's front. "That's it," Vila said, finally.

Avon nodded.

"I... I guess I should be going."

Avon nodded again.

"Oh, Avon, I am sorry. I didn't mean to..." Vila nervously twiddled with the regenerator pad. "I'll leave at the next planet. Just don't tell Blake."

Avon cleared his throat, still sore from screaming. "No."

"No, what?"

"No, I won't tell Blake." Avon held up a hand to forestall Vila's thanks. "And no, you don't have to leave. It will never happen again. In fact, it didn't happen this time."

"No, no, of course, Avon. Never happened. Nothing. I swear, no one could ever get me to say anything. Torture wouldn't..."

"Vila," Avon cut into the stream of babble. "I'm tired. Just go."

"Yes, all right." Vila paused at the door. "I really am sorry, you know."

"Yes, I know."

After the door had shut, and he was quite sure Vila had gone, Avon pulled the sheets over himself and curled up with his back to the room, facing the wall. "I know. I know that I love Blake too much. I can't take you away from him. He loves you." The words were bitter, and Avon repeated them, trying to accustom himself to the taste. "He loves _you _."__

__

____

***

> _  
> My Love,_
> 
> _I dreamed of us, yesterday. We were walking on a beach made of stars and overhead the sky was full of birds that sang our names. We walked hand in hand, and said nothing, because we understood each other so well that words would intrude._
> 
> _Then the beach ended, and all was black before us, an endless, formless void. You looked at me, and smiled, and said 'Avon...  
>  _

_Damn, damn, damn._ Avon erased his name so harshly that he tore right through the paper. He fetched another sheet, took a deep breath to calm himself, and went on.

***

"Avon?"

"Yes, what is it, Blake?" Avon looked up from a recalcitrant computer linkage, and his heart skipped several beats. Blake was standing there, looking mildly puzzled, and in one hand... Avon recognized that worn and folded paper. Had Blake guessed the true author? He had been quiet around Avon of late, often looking at him speculatively. Avon had thought it was only Blake the Rebel Leader, trying to decide how to manipulate a useful, but unwilling, member of his crew. But if Blake knew, however he reacted, whether with anger, or pity, or even generously offering to occasionally have sex with Avon as well as Vila, Avon would have lost the letters and writing them had become too important. Panic sharpened his tone. "I am busy, you know, trying to repair the machinery your actions have damaged," he said.

"Yes, I do know," Blake said and paused, rubbing one hand idly across his chest. 

Avon swallowed and turned his eyes aside. "Then?"

"It will wait." Blake turned aside. His back still to Avon, he said, "I _do_ appreciate your efforts, Avon."

"Fine, wonderful. Pat the troops on the back, and they'll go on forever, singing patriotic songs as they march to their deaths."

Blake sighed. "All right, I get the picture. You despise me. I had thought... never mind." Blake's step sounded slow, as if Avon's viciousness had drained all the strength out of him.

Avon broke several components, and was in a filthy temper for the rest of the day.

> _  
> To my Dearest Love,_
> 
> _Put your arms around me, and tell me everything will be all right. The days are very hard for me. Looking at you, and wanting you, and having to wait until we are alone._
> 
> _Let me kiss you and worship your body until you cry out my name and collapse, completely sated. Let me hold you, and comfort you. Let me be with you, pressed against your chest, so that our hearts beat as one._
> 
> _I am always, and eternally,_
> 
> _Yours_
> 
> __

***

"Erm, Avon?"

"What is it, Vila?" Avon was tired, too tired to sleep properly, so he'd stretched out on a recliner in the rest room, but when he looked up, Vila's expression had him on his feet in a moment. "What?"

"Blake."

"What about him?"

Vila looked down, at the walls, anywhere except Avon's face. "You know he keeps all the letters and reads them again, when he's alone?"

"No, I didn't know." Avon schooled his face not to show how moved he was by Blake's treasuring his words. "So?"

"Well, lately he's been, um, looking at me funny after he's been reading them. And he's been...." Vila shrugged. "I dunno, watching you whenever you weren't looking. Do you think..."

"I think your guilty conscience is making you paranoid. Has he said anything?" Avon refused to panic. 

"He did sort of joke about wanting to hear me say some of those things to him. Only he wasn't joking."

"Well, then, say what he wants to hear."

"I can't! You know I can't. I could memorize a speech if you'd write it, but he'd see right through that. He wants me there, right beside him, talking like you do in those letters."  
  "Then tell him you can't do it."

"But... Avon, he says if I would do it, just once, he wouldn't ever ask again. Isn't there some way you could maybe..."

Avon's mind whirled. "You want _me_ to impersonate you? Besides the vulgarity of it, don't you think Blake might possibly notice? Even if he were willing to be blind-folded, don't you think he'd be able to tell the difference between our voices?"  
  "But Blake really wants..." Vila shut up as Avon rounded on him, angrily.

"I don't want to hear what Blake wants!!" He was nearly shouting, and his hands went out to grasp Vila by the shoulders.

"Avon!" Blake snapped from the entrance. "Enough!"

Avon dropped his hands to his sides. "More than enough," he said, mentally replaying the conversation. All but the last part had been too quiet for Blake to hear. Unless Blake had hovered near the door, eavesdropping. But no, the expression on Blake's face wasn't shocked enough. But then, Blake had been known to hide his feelings...no, Blake _didn't_ know. Avon walked quickly out of the rest room, ignoring Blake's call to return.

***

But he couldn't ignore Blake's increasingly frequent stares. After the third time he noticed Blake's fixed gaze on himself, Avon realized Vila was right. Soon Blake would stop staring and start asking all the wrong questions (from Avon's point of view), unless he was convinced that Vila was the author of the letters.

So. It was a necessity. Once he accepted that fact, Avon could concentrate on ways and means. Begin with the setting.

Ideally, he'd prefer a pitch-black room with Blake strapped down so he couldn't even use his sense of touch to destroy the illusion. During sex-play, perhaps? 

Avon paused to consider that, and then dismissed it. Far too obviously staged even if they could get Blake to agree to it on the basis of Vila's so-called 'shyness'. Besides, if he _did_ believe it, there would be no preventing him from demanding a repeat of the event. Avon didn't set too much store in Blake's ability to keep an inexpedient promise. And Avon had absolutely no intention of humiliating himself on a regular basis.

***

In a moment of whimsy, Avon thought it would be wonderfully convenient if the Federation would simply capture the three of them and put Avon and Vila in an adjoining cell to Blake, so Avon could masquerade as Vila through a barred door, invisible and very much untouchable. Of course, in that not-terribly-unlikely event, it would be impossible for Vila to serenade Blake. Not even the most besotted rebel in the world would believe it. Even if Avon was mad enough to waste time playing mind-games instead of attempting escape.

No, Blake had to be feeling too vulnerable for suspicion, but at the same time, Vila had to be absolutely safe. A paradox- unless they weren't in physical proximity?

Perhaps Blake could be coerced into a relatively safe mission and 'Vila' could express his devotion over the teleport bracelet communicator? Avon could use an electronic voice-filter so that he could speak in Vila's voice.

Avon mulled it over. Something about the plan wasn't right.

Ah. Of course. Just as in the pitch-dark-and-tied scenario, there would be no sensible objection to 'Vila' continuing to chat Blake up over the bracelets. 

He didn't really like any of his options. A forced situation was more likely to arouse Blake's suspicions than allay them. All he could do was bide his time, and hope a workable scenario dropped into his lap. That, and build a pocket-size Vila-voice.

But if something suitable didn't appear soon, he would have to reconsider his temporarily shelved 'bolt-hole' plan. Bad enough risking his neck every day in Blake's insane Cause. He certainly wasn't going to remain to be studied like an exotic bacteria under Blake's microscope.

***

"You don't need to stay," Avon told Cally. He glanced around the med-unit. "I can take over here. You must be tired."

Cally looked at Avon. "It is kind of you to offer, but..."

"I'm the only one who hasn't been either drug-darted or exposed to radiation, or both, today."

"Then you ought to be on the flight deck."

Avon smiled. "Jenna chased me off it. Apparently, the sight of my healthy face was making her ill."

Cally frowned. "Perhaps I ought to check on Jenna. She may require more of the anti-radiation drug."

"Yes, that's a good idea," Avon said, still smiling. "And you might like to look in on Gan in his cabin while you're about it."

Cally paused in the act of picking up a bottle of pills. She turned to face Avon directly. "You want me out of here. Why?" she asked directly.

Avon frowned, and his gaze flickered once to Blake, and then took in Vila. They were sleeping on the cots behind him and Cally, with monitors quietly bleeping.

Cally's sharp gaze softened, and she reached out to touch Avon's arm lightly. "You are feeling guilty about us. You should not. You were being logical."

Avon's face went totally still and blank. "And you might all have died while I was being logical." He was still talking very softly, as was Cally, but there was a harsh undertone.

"But we did not. You rescued us." She smiled. "Blake and Vila will recover."

"I would still like to stay for a while."

Cally inclined her head. "Very well. The medication is on automatic-feed. Blake was restless, so I was forced to put him under restraint to prevent him dislodging the feed, but if he is calm when he awakens, you may remove it."

Avon nodded. "I understand."

"Vila was less affected." Cally's grin was mischievous. "At least by the radiation. He claimed he is allergic to physical labor. He says it makes him break out."

Avon grinned. "Of work-camps, most likely. Now, go on," Avon said, genially escorting Cally to the door. "I'll look after everything here. You can trust me in this."

"Yes. I do believe I can." Cally smiled once more and left.

Avon waited until he was certain she was gone, and then he strode rapidly to Vila's cot, and shook Vila, hard, then put one hand over Vila's mouth.

Vila's monitors bleeped faster as Vila's eyes flew open in fright and his hands came up to pull at Avon's arms.

Avon leaned in close. "Quiet," he whispered. "Now's our chance. I'm going to wake Blake, and then 'you' are going to grant him his dearest wish." He pulled his hand away, to allow Vila to talk.

Vila looked puzzled. "I'm going to overthrow the Federation? Right now? I don't feel up to it, Avon, really I don't."

"Idiot. You are going to tell Blake, in overblown and flowery language, just how much you love him."

"I am?" Vila still looked puzzled.

Avon took a small, flat box out of his pocket and pressed it against his own throat. It clung without apparent support. Avon cleared his throat and said, "You are," in what sounded like Vila's voice.

"Oh. I am." Now Vila sounded pleased.

Avon lowered the medical unit lighting even further. It had been dim before, but now the room was black, except for the small lights set around the edges of the floor at intervals.

Vila made a small protesting noise. "I don't like the dark, Avon, you know that."

"You'll like it even less if Blake finds out the trick you've played on him." Avon's Vila-voice rose along with his annoyance with Vila.

"Me? You've been enjoying it, don't tell me you haven't."

"I'll tell you only one thing. **Be QUIET** ," Avon lowered his voice- 'Vila's' voice. "I'm going to wake Blake, and if you say one word..."

"No, I wouldn't. _I_ don't get my jollies by hurting his feelings." And then Vila shut up, with the fine sense of timing which had usually saved him from _quite_ reaching the end of Avon's temper.

Avon took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself, and then he looked in Blake's direction. He wished he'd thought to bring 'night-sight' goggles. He would have liked to have seen Blake's face. Would like to see it as Blake woke. As he had his dream come true. Avon hadn't had many of his own fulfilled.

"Blake?" Avon said, quietly, then louder, in a plaintive Vila wail, "ROJ!"

Blake started. Avon could see a faint gleam from the tubing connecting him to the medical drip, as his arm moved within the limited confines of the restraint field. "Vila?"

"Yes, it's me." Avon put a warning hand on Vila who had moved with an audible rustle of sheets when his name was called. Avon said, "I don't like the dark, Roj."

Blake cleared his throat. "Cally? Cally, turn up the lights."

Avon made a Vila-whimper. "She left. Avon was supposed to watch us."

"Ah." Blake was silent a moment. "I suppose he had better things to do," Blake said with more than a touch of bitterness. "Don't worry, Vila. _Cally_ will come back soon."

_You're probably right,_ Avon thought. Out loud he said, "Roj?"  
  Blake replied, "Yes, Vila. It's all right," in a soothing voice.

"Roj," Avon's voice dipped into its most intimate register. It surprised him how well it sounded in Vila's voice. "I... I tend to babble when I'm frightened. I don't mean to, I know, but..."

"That's all right. There's no one to hear you but me," Blake replied.

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"Nothing my lover says could ever bother me."

Avon swallowed. "Lover. You know, Blake, it's funny, but I think, maybe, just this once, I could...well, I could try..."

"Try what, Vila?" Blake said indulgently.

"I could try to tell you how I really feel." Avon shut his eyes, pointlessly. It was dark. It didn't make any difference, but he was about to bare his soul before Blake and Vila and instinctively he shielded himself from their sight- their mockery, or worse, their complete understanding. He was trembling with nervous uncertainty. Blake would recognize him. Vila would sneeze while Avon was talking. _Something_ would happen. But he had to try. He was committed. "I love you. I always have."

"Always?" Blake rumbled.

"From the very beginning." Avon's trembling eased. He was going to say it, come what may. "With every fiber of my being, with all that I am, and was, and ever shall be. In every cold, dark niche in my soul you cast the warmth and glow of your spirit. Seeing you rise to fight again, to live, and to laugh despite the pain, gives me courage, gives me the strength to continue. 

"I see the sunlight of alien worlds nestled in your curls, and it is an angel's halo. Your eyes are brighter than the stars to me, and the universe is encompassed within your great heart.

"I am often afraid, but I would far rather be afraid in your shadow, then the boldest man alive, without you. 

"Wine is tasteless, compared to the sweet press of your lips on mine. You voice stirs me, deep inside, where no one has ever gone. There is no perfume to match the scent of your body as you hold me, tight against your chest, protecting me, as I would protect you, if only I were as strong as you.

"If only..." Avon faltered. He wanted so badly to confess. But he couldn't. Lies were soft balm, but the truth would destroy him. Would hurt Blake as well. Let him have his devoted, romantic Delta. Let him have his dream. "If only we had met in a different world, and been two different people. If only I could keep my heart as open to you as it is now. But tomorrow I will be once more mute. Once more, you must look deeply to see my love in my eyes, for the word will never be on my lips again.

"But know this. Keep this safe. It will always be in my heart. To the very end."

Blake had said nothing, but when Avon stopped speaking, he could hear Blake weeping, quietly in the darkness.

"Roj? Are you in pain?" Avon asked, terrified that something had happened to Blake in the darkness, while Avon was blathering.

"No. Yes. My heart is breaking. Kiss me, love."

Avon started forward, instinctively. Then he halted, remembering. Blake was calling for Vila. And Vila was restrained, as Blake was. If Avon kissed him...

"I can't," Avon cried, and he heard the thickness of unshed tears in his own voice. "I can't." And he moved past Vila's bed, fumbling his way to the door controls. He had enough presence of mind to silence the door and shut down the corridor lights before he slipped out of the medical unit. The door slid shut with a bare whisper of displaced air, cutting Avon off from Blake's continuing cries.

He ripped the voice-filter off his throat and leaned against the wall for a long moment, then he controlled himself with a savage effort, and went to the nearest wall communicator. "Cally," he called, sharply. 

"Yes?' Cally's voice came back, sounding startled.

" Something unexpected has arisen. I find that I am unable to remain in the medical unit. Can you..."

"Yes, of course, I'll be right there."

"No hurry," Avon said. " I turned the lights down. They were...resting, when I left."

***

Gan knew he was dying. It wasn't something you needed an Alpha-grade to figure out, when a wall falls on top of you. At least he'd managed to save the others. Their faces swam before his mind's eye. Vila, clever, funny Vila, he didn't need Gan to look after him any more...Cally, so serious, and so full of fire, no one ever had to take care of her...Jenna...sweet, generous Jenna...good thing she didn't love him, she'd be all right. 

But Avon...He remembered a night on the flight deck, long ago. Avon had never spoken about it since, and neither had he, but it seemed such a shame...

He blinked, and he saw Blake, lying nearby, dust settling over him, but nothing terribly heavy on top of him. Blake would live and go back to the _Liberator_ -go back to Avon, proud, silent Avon. He wanted to tell Blake... but he couldn't speak, could barely breathe under the crushing weight on his chest...his fist clenched in frustration, then he tilted his head and saw his hand lying on the dusty floor. With painstaking care, he scratched out the words 'Avon loves Blake'. He would have liked to have explained better, but it was getting harder to see, harder to breathe, harder to think... he put his arm down, careful not to smudge the words and relaxed, knowing he'd done the best for his friends that he could.

When Blake rose and discovered Gan's body, he fell to his knees, grieving, wiping out Gan's last message unread.

***

> _Roj, my love,_
> 
> _I know how much Gan's death hurts you. He was my friend, too. I need you to tell me how much you love me. Tell me, not in words, but in deeds. Hold me and tell me that we will leave this madness of a rebellion together, just you and I ..._
> 
> __

Avon balled up the paper before throwing it into the disposer. Madness, indeed. Even if Blake agreed, he would be going off with _Vila._ Avon put a clean, new sheet on his desk and began again.

***

In a way Avon was relieved that Gan was dead. Gan was...had been... the sort to think unrequited love wonderfully romantic. Conceivably he might one day have told Blake that Vila's love-letters actually came from Avon, that Avon was obsessed with Blake. And that would be the end of everything.

Avon was also feeling guilty that he was relieved, so he took it out on Blake, tore him up with the same tongue that cried out Blake's name when he was alone in his room and could no longer deny himself at least the dream of Blake's love. 

"After all, I don't get them killed," he said, slipping the sharp words into Blake's raw, wounded heart.

"True," Blake replied, putting one hand on Avon's shoulder, the cold pain in his eyes making Avon even more ashamed of himself.

***

Blake was hurt and left the ship, not caring whether he lived or died. Avon wondered in the cold, hollow depths of himself whether it would be better to not to go after Blake, better not to have to see him leaving Vila's cabin in the morning, tousled and happily flushed. Better not to hear that wonderful voice asking Avon to produce technological marvels to advance the Cause of Blake's suicide, which was all it was, really, just a long, drawn-out version.

Avon argued for leaving Blake behind, and Vila, fool that he was, was willing to believe Blake had abandoned him. But then the fool triggered Blake's message and Blake naturally won their hearts all over again. He was very good at that, Blake was. So good that Avon was never sure whether he meant any of it, or whether it was all part of his game-plan for the Cause. He hoped that at least Blake's love for Vila was true, that Avon's alter-ego had won Blake's heart. Love at one remove was bittersweet, but even that was better than nothing. To know that through your efforts the one you love is happy, even if you are not...

It was something, but it wasn't enough. It was getting more difficult being on the same ship with Blake and keeping up the pretense of indifference at best, hostility on the days when Blake's foolhardiness made him sick with fear of losing Blake forever, losing even the sound of him laughing on the flight deck, even the scent of him when he stood beside Avon, hot with anger as they argued.

And it wasn't as if he could even hate Vila. No one could hate such an ingratiating creature. Although Avon now knew there was an reserve of masculine strength under that cringing exterior, Vila never showed it to him again, allowing himself to be bullied into missions, teased by Avon, turned down by the women--- there must be something to the rumors that Deltas were over-sexed as Vila was always on the prowl.

Of course, Vila wasn't the only one who put himself in harm's way for Blake's sake. Avon even went down with Vila to Fosforon and threatened Tynus in order to obtain a new toy for Blake. It was pathetic. Here Avon was, using an ex-lover in a hopeless attempt to please a lover he could never have. And Tynus had been more considerate than most. He had only stared at Avon's nose once, the morning after they met in the Blue Oyster. 

Vila asked if Avon could trust Tynus, and Avon said, "I told you, he's a friend of mine," being careful not to stress the word 'friend', but Vila read between the lines. 

Vila replied, smirking, "Yes, I always knew you had a friend. I used to say to people, 'I bet Avon's got a friend, somewhere in the galaxy'."

"And you were right. That must be a novel experience for you." Really, the best thing about Vila was his repartee. 

It was a surprise when Tynus betrayed Avon. Tynus had changed, but then, Avon had changed, too, and he found himself killing Tynus without the least regret. It wasn't pleasant discovering that he could do that, even if it was in self-defense, and even though their relationship had been one of mutual convenience.

Avon was adapting, the instinct for survival warping his personality. He had delayed shooting the man who was selling him exit visas, and that delay had cost Anna her life. He could kill now without hesitation and feel nothing, even for a man he'd allowed the most intimate access to his body. He'd also learned hand-to-hand combat and the use of a Liberator hand-gun. Although he wasn't terribly good at either, he'd found swift, decisive action would generally suffice. 

But not always. On Exbar, Blake had found an old love. Avon sent Travis's location to Servalan hoping the Federation would arrive ahead of the _Liberator _and collect their renegade. It was stupid, he knew at the time it was stupid, but he still did it.The knife-twist Avon felt in his heart when Blake said that Inga had meant a lot to him forced him to do it. Inga... if Blake took her on board...if he put Vila aside for her...__

__Avon had been so sure that Blake was gay. After all, Jenna was an incredibly attractive woman, and she'd practically flung herself at Blake's feet, to no avail. Avon couldn't imagine Inga being physically more beautiful than Jenna, so it must mean that Blake actually _loved_ her. That was insupportable. All very well and good to console himself with Blake's happiness when Vila was his partner- Vila made no pretense of being romantic about it. But a romantic figure from the past..._ _

__It was a trap, naturally, and Avon went down to protect Blake. Equally naturally, they were captured and threatened with death. With Blake sentenced to die at his side, he just _had_ to confess that he'd called for Servalan. Then Inga and her father rescued them, saving Avon from making further, and worse, confessions. He was so relieved not to have told Blake of his infatuation that he was glad to chase after Travis, even though it got him shot. Then Blake had held him, had held him and refused to abandon him. Blake had stopped thinking about Travis, wanting only to get Avon back to the _Liberator_. It was all Avon could do not to kiss Blake, not to beg him to stay with Avon, forever._ _

__Fortunately, Inga had the same self-sacrificing hero-streak as Blake- possibly it was genetically encoded- and elected to remain behind to help the other prisoners on the planet survive. Avon had stood, silent, holding his wounded arm, and watched, blank-faced, while Blake kissed her. Jenna hadn't liked seeing the kiss any more than he did, but at least she could let her expression show her feelings._ _

__

____

***

"That was stupid," Blake said conversationally, while assisting Avon to the medical unit. 

"Yes, I should have ducked," Avon replied. He was concentrating on making his feet track. He was light-headed from shock.

"I meant, calling Servalan. She's far more dangerous to us than Travis."

_Not as dangerous to me as Inga._ Aloud, Avon said, "Travis is highly motivated."

"Only against me. That blind spot's his weakness." Blake eyed Avon. "Were you thinking to kill him as a favor to me? Well, don't. I don't want Travis dead."

Avon took a deep breath, unnerved that Blake knew Avon did him favors. "Now, _you're_ being stupid." Avon wobbled, and was enfolded in one strong arm long enough for him to find his balance.

"I need to know they haven't twisted me into something like him. Letting Travis live proves that."

"It proves you are soft-hearted, if not soft-headed. Neither is really a useful attribute for a rebel leader."

Blake chuckled. "I suppose you're not that badly off, if you can still be ratty."

Blake helped him to the medical unit, and stayed long enough for Cally's assurance that Avon would fully recover.

***

> _  
> My Dearest Love,_
> 
> _You kissed Inga. Didn't you think it would hurt me? Or are you still hiding from the Federation's lies, by playing a part? I can't blame you, I suppose, as I've done the same thing, in my own way._
> 
> _But come to me tonight, and let your body speak to mine. Let us hold each other close, and taste the sweetness of our love._
> 
> _Come to me, and think only of me. Leave your rebellion outside the door, this one night, I beg you._
> 
> _Always a Fool for You._
> 
> __

That was the last time Avon really had Blake's attention. After Gan's death, Blake had been quiet about Central Control, and Avon had hoped Blake had given up that chimera.

_Should have known better._ Avon thought, after getting Orac's latest report on Blake's investigations. _Blake never gives up. Now he's looking for officers who served with Central Control and he thinks he's found one on Albion._

***

On Albion, Avon again risked his life for Blake's cause: doubly risked it, for Del Grant was quite capable of killing to avenge his sister, and Avon was handicapped by knowing Del had the right of it. Avon _had_ got Anna killed, even though it was by his weakness rather than a deliberate betrayal.

He wasn't quite sure why Del forgave him. He asked, later, back on the _Liberator_ in the medical unit. Cally had insisted on a medical check on both of them after their experience in the polar installation.

"You risked your life for mine, down there." Del was lying under a heat-lamp, and Cally was off to one side, quietly consulting Orac about the treatment. Del had been thoroughly shaken up and bruised, and she wanted to be sure there were no hidden injuries.

Avon sat on a nearby table, towelling his hair dry and wishing Vila would hurry back with the promised change of clothes. "Not for you," he admitted.

"Ah. For Anna. Because I'm her brother."

Avon inclined his head, unwilling to cast doubts on Del's misinterpretation, and even less willing to give Del a glimpse of his feelings for Blake. Del knew that Avon wasn't exclusively mono-sexual, but he also knew that Avon had been faithful to Anna while they were together. "There were six million other people on the planet."

"None of whom you gave a damn about."

"There is that," Avon said, although Del was wrong about that, too. Avon would be willing to wager that Blake had stayed until the last second. Heroes are like that.

"Well, if you'd risk yourself for me, then I don't think there's any chance you would have abandoned Anna."  
"No. If I could have..." Avon saw Cally turning back to them, and he said, louder, "I have to go. There were some technical questions Cauder had about the device. Not unnaturally, he wants the thing completely dismantled." He got up.

Cally said, "Aren't you going to wait for Vila?"

"I think not. I fear he may have been accosted by a liquor bottle on the way."

Cally frowned. "Well, he was upset when Blake wouldn't let him teleport up until you were done."

"Wouldn't let...?" That startled Avon. "I'm going to get changed. Del, you're in good hands with Cally. I'll see you later."

"Yes, we have a lot to discuss."

Avon nodded, but the last thing he wanted was to relive the memories of an old love. He was having a hard enough time with Blake. If Blake really did force Vila to stay...

He threw on the first clothing he found in his closet and exchanged sopping-wet boots and socks for dry ones. Then he began searching for Vila. It wasn't a long search. Vila was in his cabin, clutching a half-empty bottle to his chest and he hadn't even bothered to shut the door. "Vila," Avon began, annoyed.

"Don't start," Vila said. Avon was the one who'd been in a polar station, but Vila was shivering. "He was going to kill me. I thought... I thought he would protect me. At least I thought he wouldn't kill me himself!"

Avon came in, kicking several empty bottles out of his path, and locked the door behind himself. "When did you teleport?"

" _After_ you called in and said it was safe! After the countdown had gone to zero! I was sure the bomb had gone off and we were all just going to keel over where we stood. Blake said _fifty_! He said that we'd get out when the countdown got to fifty! At thirty-seven, Cauder told us to go! I tried, I tried, but Blake grabbed my arm, and he wouldn't let me go!"

Avon sat on the bed beside Vila. If Blake was so far gone in his mania that he would sacrifice his lover, what chance did any of them stand?

"It was because _you_ were still there!" Vila accused, staring angrily at Avon.

Avon froze. "You're imagining things," he finally said. "It was merely a misguided heroic impulse of solidarity with Albion's people."

Vila's anger fled, and his face crumpled, near tears again. "Oh, I don't know. I don't know. Avon, I wish..."

"What?"

"I wish I'd gone for you instead of Blake. You would have protected me."

Avon shook his head. "There's no going back, Vila."  
Vila started nuzzling up against Avon, running his hands down to Avon's waist. 

Avon caught his hands. "No."

"You'll never forgive me for that, will you! One lousy mistake!" Vila curled in on himself.

"I did forgive you. But this would be a mistake, too. And I don't want to have to forgive myself."

"I'm never going back to Blake again. Never! And I don't want you to write any more letters!"

"Your choice." Avon had idle thoughts of a deprived Blake turning to him for comfort, but it was only a brief fantasy.

"Won't matter to him, anyway. He's hardly touched me in weeks. All he can think about is this new Central Command."

"Star One," Avon murmured.

"He's crazy. He's going to get us all killed," Vila muttered, going limp in Avon's arms.

"That was always the probability, Vila," Avon said softly. He disentangled himself from Vila's semi-conscious grip, and stood. "But there is no going back."

***

> _  
> My Dearest Roj,_
> 
> _My heart aches so. I wish I could hold you and tell you everything would be all right. I wish you could do the same for me. But you do not even know I love you, and I... I am so heart-sick at this futile, suicidal chase of yours that I fear you will kill my love, before you kill me._
> 
> _Or yourself. The ultimate horror for me will be if you die while I still love you. Please, make me hate you, make me strong enough to withstand your death._
> 
> _Or take me with you when you die._
> 
> _Your eternally devoted fool,_
> 
> _Kerr Avon_
> 
> __

Avon rested his head on his arms, too emotionally worn to get up and go to his bed, his cold and lonely Blakeless bed. But there was one last thing he had to do. He lifted his head and ordered, "Orac, file that letter with the others. To be retrieved only on my voice-command, code-lock, Blake's Fool. Acknowledge."

_Very well. But why you insist on utilizing me as a sort of diary is beyond my understanding._

"That's right. It is."

***

Things kept getting worse after that. The crew of the _Liberator_ were so exhausted that Blake finally agreed to a brief rest-stop at Del Ten. Of course, the fact that he hadn't been able to get any leads on Star One helped their case. 

Only instead of a holiday, they were treated to a terrifying demonstration of Federation mind-control. Even under programming, Blake retained his ability to persuade. Avon didn't know why Blake had chosen to tell Vila that he and Cally had paired up. He _did_ know why Vila had chosen to believe him: sheer, unadulterated stupidity.

Then again, when Blake looked directly at you, and spoke as if _you_ were important to him, vital to his plans... well, Avon had gone along with more ridiculous ideas than the suggestion that Avon would prefer sole possession of the _Liberator_.

Still, on a level he refused to acknowledge, even to himself, it hurt that Blake would accuse him of betrayal. '

***

> _  
> My Roj,_
> 
> _There is nothing you can do to drive me away, but I do not know how much longer I can withstand the pain of staying at your side, and yet, not at your side._
> 
> _If only you would listen to me._
> 
> _You think I argue because I resent your leadership. I would follow you to death itself, if there were no other way, but I am selfish enough to fight you in order to find that other way. There **must** be some other way._
> 
> _I could help you more than I do, if only you would share your thoughts with me. But I've destroyed that trust before it was ever born._
> 
> _I knew, even as I did it. Every time you tried to trust me, I said something cruel, mocking you for your humanity._
> 
> _Forgive me. I had no choice._
> 
> _I remain,_
> 
> _Ever Your Kerr.  
>  _

***

Freedom City. And Blake had decided that he didn't trust Avon or Vila to accompany him. Maybe he had begun to believe the story he'd told Vila. Vila was feeling decidedly ill-used. Avon wasn't terribly happy, either. They were now hot on the trail of 'Star One' and Avon smelled suicide in the air. At least Blake owed them a last fling.

So Vila and Avon had gone down and played one last scam and enjoyed a bit of mild debauchery, luckily winding up with nothing worse than hang-overs, and in Avon's case, a severe case of gastrointestinal distress from an unsuspected lactose-intolerance.

***

"Avon?" Cally was puzzled at the medical unit's readings. "I don't understand."

"What?" Avon said, breathily, bent over and holding his stomach. He was afraid of the consequences if he coughed or spoke too loudly. 

"Nothing we carry aboard _Liberator_ could have caused this."

"We sometimes...," Avon said, pausing to wipe a bead of sweat off his upper lip, "supplement our rations with acquisitions... from friendly planets..." 

Cally frowned. "But we have not had a rest-stop in months."

"Perhaps... perhaps I saved a treat... a bit too long." Avon felt himself going white. "Cally."

Cally took pity on him, but from her expression, Avon knew she wasn't fooled. "This injection should help. I'd better go see if Vila is recovering from his 'treat', as well."

Blake came in later, as Avon was lying in the cool dimness of the medical unit. Avon had been half-dozing, but he woke to see Blake staring down at him. The expression was peculiar, unreadable.

"You shouldn't have done it," Blake said. He pulled up a chair and sat beside Avon. 

"Done what?" Avon shut his eyes and hoped Blake would go away.

Blake picked up Avon's hand, and idly rubbed a thumb over it as he stared past Avon, at the bulkhead. "Shouldn't have gone down to Freedom City. Was it worth it?"

No point in dissembling any further. Avon stared upward at Blake."Vila and I won ten million credits."

Blake mused, bringing Avon's hand up as he rubbed his lip, without seeming to notice. Avon's mouth went dry, and his heart raced. "That is a lot. But it's not a patch on the contents of the treasure-room."

"Which is _yours_."

"Ah. You've still not forgiven me for that scene with Largo."

"I didn't appreciate being made to feel like a trained dog." Avon remembered Blake displaying his dominance for Largo by snapping his fingers as a signal for Avon to hand him back the gems they'd been using as a bargaining point. 

"You're entitled to your share of the treasure room, of course. In addition to what you've already stashed in your own quarters."

Avon showed his teeth. "An insurance policy. Against the likelihood that you would fritter away the entire room."

"On aid to rebel planets? Medical supplies, armaments, food?"

"Yes. And similar pointless expenditures."

"If I believed half the things you say, Avon..." Blake sighed and got up. "I just haven't got time to argue with you now. Hold on a little longer, and Star One will be ours. Then you can have the treasure room."

"Or whatever's left of it." _But what if what I want is you?_ But there was no point in saying that. Avon was still writing love-letters in his heart and there they would stay.

Blake seemed to realize that he was holding Avon's hand. He put it down gently on Avon's chest. "Or whatever's left," he agreed, quietly, and left.

***

>   
>  Roj, my heart,
> 
> I sense the end is coming, but I do not know what form it will take. I wonder if at the last I will leap to take the blast meant for you?
> 
> Somehow, I doubt I will be given the chance. 
> 
> I wish I could tell you how I feel.
> 
> I never could. Not even Anna... I loved her, too, but there was always a distance between us, even when we made love. I would have bought a planet for her, hoping to make us so secure that we could drop our shields and reveal our true selves to each other.
> 
> I've lied to you from the beginning. Not directly, but by omission, and you have repaid me with honest friendship. Despite my best efforts, you still see something worthwhile in me.
> 
> All the times I've held you in my arms when the ship shook around us, I was happy. Ridiculous, isn't it? Looking back, I've been more happy here, on this doomed ship, with this rag-tag group, than ever in my life. 
> 
> I suppose that's worth dying for.
> 
> But it's not worth losing you.
> 
> Damn you for making me love you. 
> 
> No. I don't mean that.
> 
> Damn **me** , for not being able to tell you.
> 
> I am still the Fool who follows the Fool.

***

On Goth, Blake refused to take Avon down with him. It seemed particularly absurd this time, because the brain-print he was looking for might very well be computer-encoded. 

_If I'm no use to him, why does he keep me around?_ Avon wondered, grumpily. He was glad when Travis's ship appeared. Whether Blake liked it or not, Avon was damn well going to get rid of at least one threat to Blake's life. 

Only that back-fired, as most of Avon's best intentions did, getting Vila and Jenna captured and coming very close to killing Blake. But Blake did get the location of Star One.

The closer they came to actually achieving Blake's goal, the worse Avon thought the idea. Strategically it seemed sound enough. The collapse of the infrastructure of command would cause widespread chaos, which would provide unprecedented openings for rebel activities. Avon had actually considered something similar at one time, but dismissed it, simply because the cost was unacceptable. To himself. Blake would have hated him for causing the deaths of so many 'innocents'.

But Blake's plan was worse. It was clear-eyed, coldly pragmatic, mass-murder for the sake of political expediency. Entire planets would be reduced to starving savagery, while others would likely become totally uninhabitable. 

At one time Blake had been horrified at far lesser acts of atrocity committed by the Federation. He still blazed with righteous indignation over the murders of a few dozen people gathered to listen to a speech. How could he condone the murders of millions? It wasn't Blake. It couldn't be.

If Avon had proposed such a scheme only a few months ago, Blake would have been disgusted at his cold-bloodedness. Had he infected Blake? Was this madness to be laid at Avon's doorstep?

Madness.

Perhaps Blake _was_ insane. 

Maybe he had been driven mad because he had no one strong to support him. He had depended on Avon, and Avon had not had the courage to commit himself. It would have shown too much.

Blake's iron will would see this through, and then he would be destroyed, horribly, slowly, inexorably corroded by the acid of self-hate.

Avon could not stop it, simply could not see himself staying with Blake any longer. He could not, _would_ not watch Blake disintegrate after the slaughter. There would be a reckoning, then. Blake would have destroyed himself, and destroyed the last bit of humanity in Avon's soul. 

But even that was not enough to keep Avon from accompanying Blake to the complex. At first he thought he might somehow persuade Blake to take over the computer, but Blake didn't trust him, wouldn't trust him with a handful of gems, much less the fate of the human race. No, the most Avon could do would be to aid Blake in his suicide, to at least give him the illusion of victory first.

But nothing went right. Travis was there, betraying humanity to green alien blobs. Blake was shot. Avon and Cally came close to getting themselves blown up retrieving bombs, once Blake changed his mind and decided humanity needed Star One.

It was a farce, but not remotely funny, although Avon was tempted to laugh when they returned to the ship, Blake's weight dragging between him and Cally, only to find that Jenna had appealed to _Servalan_ for help.

"You did right," Blake said to Jenna. "We are all human."

"Speak for yourself," Avon said, putting his shoulder more firmly under Blake's arm. "Medical unit for you. You're out of the fight."

Blake took a breath, as if about to protest, and wound up coughing until he nearly collapsed.

"Now, Blake! Jenna, get to the flight deck, Vila, you go with her. Cally and I will take care of Blake."

If it hadn't been for the pressure of the moment, Avon might have been gratified at how quickly they responded to him, as if the _Liberator_ was already his. And it was, wasn't it? He'd done everything he promised, and oh, he was glad that Travis had been there. Better an alien invasion than Blake a mass-murderer. 

"All right. Here," Cally said, running ahead to start the medical-unit diagnostics, leaving Avon to get Blake to the treatment table. 

He dumped Blake on the table and took a quick look at the preliminary readings. "You'll be all right," he told Blake, relieved. "I have to get to the flight deck. Jenna may need help evading the aliens. And I wouldn't put it past the Federation to take a few pot-shots at us as we leave."

Blake reached up with his good hand and caught Avon's arm. "We can't go."

"Yes, we can, if we hurry."

"Avon," Blake groaned as Cally probed the wound, his fingers tightening on Avon's arm with bruising force. 

"Let me go, Blake."

" _Liberator_..."

"Yes, I know _Liberator_ is mine, and I'm taking it to safety. Don't worry."

"No!" Blake gasped again.

"Do not excite yourself, Blake," Cally said, trying to hold him still while she worked on his wound. "I must seal the blood-vessels."

"Avon!" Blake's fingers were going white with the force of his grip, and Avon's arm was numb. "Promise me! You'll stay and fight."

"You're mad! _Liberator_ is mine. I'm not throwing it away, not to mention my life! It may seem unreasonable to you Blake, but I do _not_ want to risk everything for the Federation which has driven me into exile and tried to kill me for the better part of two years."

"Not for the Federation. For the people..."

"And what have the people ever done for me?"

"Then for me, Avon. For _me_." And Blake met Avon's eyes, and in them was the knowledge that Avon thought he'd kept hidden. "You'll do it for me." But then the eyes wavered, faltered as if he doubted what he'd guessed. "Unless you really do hate me."

Avon sighed. As ever, Blake held the winning hand in their game of dominance. "All right. Cally, when you're through, join us on the flight deck. Don't be fancy about it, we haven't time." And he left without a backwards look. _Well, so we will die heroes- unsung heroes at that. I hope it's some consolation to Blake. It isn't to me. What **was** a consolation to Avon was to have looked into Blake's eyes and seen the man he loved. They would all die together. So be it._

***

Avon was never quite sure how long the battle lasted. Several times _Liberator_ had withdrawn, surrounded by a protective cordon of Federation ships, while the energy banks recharged. It had made Avon's skin crawl, but there was no option. It must have been days, at the least, as he recalled numerous occasions when Vila had brought food and drink and stimulants to the flight deck. 

Finally, the ship was failing. There was no more Avon could do. He sent Vila to check the life-capsules.

"Zen. Status report," he asked one last time.

Zen replied, "Damage to the navigation computers is beyond the present capacity of the auto-repair systems. The teleport malfunction is now total. Automatic shutdown has been implemented."

_That would appear to be that._

Jenna was with Blake in the medical unit. Avon toggled the intercom. "Jenna. We're evacuating. Get Blake to the port-side life-capsule banks." He reached for his gray leather jacket and flung it on. They'd been living in the same clothes so long he hated to do it, but he might need the protection.

There was a muffled sound, very like Blake protesting.

Even before Jenna came back to the intercom, Avon knew what she was going to say.

"He won't go. He wants to see you, Avon," Jenna sounded as tired and frustrated as Avon felt, staring at the smoking wreckage of his legacy. 

Avon glanced at Cally. "We'll be right there."

Cally hesitated, looking at the controls.

Avon shook his head. "Come on." He snatched up Orac and took it with him. He'd salvage at least one thing from this mess.

The medical unit was not far, but Avon begrudged every second. As they ran, he heard Vila calling, begging him to get out while they still could, but he couldn't take the time to reply. 

He skidded to a stop inside the medical unit. Blake was sitting up in bed, fully dressed, but making no attempt to rise. "Avon."

"Blake. Get up, now! I've destroyed the _Liberator_ for you. Isn't that enough?"

"I had to see you. To ask you..."

"There isn't _time_!" Avon shouted, exasperated and terrified that Blake was going to rip Avon's guts open before Jenna and Cally. He flung Orac into Cally's arms, making her stagger under the sudden weight, grabbed Blake's arm, and heaved, surprising the big rebel into getting on his feet. "I swear, we'll talk next time," he promised, regretting it, but desperate to get Blake moving. 

"Will there be a next time?" Blake asked, staring into Avon's face.

"Damn it, Blake! Get moving!" 

But Blake planted his feet.

"I'll find you, wherever you are, and tell you anything you want to know." Avon hated making that promise, but nothing less would work. Perhaps it wouldn't matter. One or both of them might die- getting an unarmed life- capsule past the fading remnant of a battle to some habitable planet was no sinecure. A large number of the Federation ships had been destroyed. Probably Blake would be too caught up in taking advantage of his enemy's weakness to concern himself with personal matters. If it hadn't been for his wound, he wouldn't have had time to think about it now. "Let's go!"

Blake cooperated, but it was still difficult to maneuver him through the rubble-strewn corridors to the life-capsules. Jenna ran ahead to set them up, and returned, coughing from a stray curl of smoke from one of the many small fires.

"Only two of them are functional."

"That's all right," Avon said, "Vila says the starboard capsules are working."

Blake was barely conscious as Avon folded him into a capsule and adjusted the instrumentation hastily. "I'm slaving Blake's capsule to yours. He'll need you." 

Jenna nodded. If she knew that Avon was giving Blake to her, she didn't acknowledge it. "Go," she said, climbing into her own capsule after one last look at Blake.

Cally slammed her hand down on the external eject control for Jenna's capsule at the same moment Avon sent Blake into space.

***

Avon nearly was killed himself, first in an explosion on the _Liberator_ , then in an out-of-control capsule which barely avoided being burned up and just missed landing in an ocean, and finally in a nightmarish attack by some savage. 

He really didn't expect to wake. Certainly not to a young, mischievous-looking stranger who propositioned him before he fully awoke. Dayna was... interesting. Frightening, almost, if Avon had let himself think about the gleeful savagery of her, but he saw the child instead, one who hadn't learned to take anything seriously.

She had a few harsh lessons, courtesy of Servalan and the Sarrans, before _Liberator_ regenerated and returned for Avon. According to Orac, Blake's luck had held, with the aliens being wiped out and the Federation fleet a tattered shambles. If Blake's luck had really held... if Blake was still alive to know it.

And then there was Tarrant awaiting Avon on his return to the _Liberator_. Avon was too cynical to find Tarrant's particular brand of enthusiasm attractive. He supposed Blake would find him useful, although he wondered if Jenna would be best pleased to find a Federation Space Academy graduate at the controls.

***

Only they didn't return. Blake had reported that he was safe and well and en route for the planet Epheron. He should have been with Jenna, but she had told Zen she was on a neutral cargo carrier in transit to the planet Morphenniel. When there was no further word from either of them, Avon assumed that they did not _want_ to come back. Jenna had been increasingly disgusted with the futility of rebellion, so perhaps she'd left Blake deliberately. She had been capable of breaking the slave-link from inside her own capsule. 

And Blake... well, Blake was no doubt harrying the Federation from a different angle and he'd call the _Liberator_ when he needed her. Avon kept Orac looking for Blake, but assigned it no particular priority. He wasn't sure what he'd say to Blake, whether Blake really had ferreted out Avon's secret, and if so, what his reaction would be. 

Tarrant wanted to be in charge, and Avon didn't really care at first. He had Vila, Cally, and Dayna on his side, if it came down to sides. In the meantime, Tarrant was kept busy dutifully following rumors of Blake, and cheerfully planning missions to acquire allies or accumulate loot. Avon wouldn't exactly say that he was counting on Tarrant to replace Blake. Certainly there was nothing in that boyish charm that appealed to him, but Tarrant _had_ been trained at a military academy. So long as it was clearly understood that _Liberator_ belonged to Avon, he had no objection to Tarrant exercising his military muscles.

***

He began changing his mind during the Kairos fiasco. While he had been fascinated by the Sopron, Servalan had been plotting against them. It wasn't reasonable to expect Tarrant to match wits with her. 

It probably wasn't reasonable for _Avon_ to expect to match wits with her, but without Blake... damn Blake. He went ahead and made them into a team, with Avon kicking and screaming every inch of the way, and then he abandoned them when he didn't need them any more.

And then there was Keezarn, which proved to Avon's satisfaction that Tarrant was irredeemably gullible. No shame in being tricked by Servalan, but a group of barefoot primitives? No, Avon drew the line at allowing his security to depend on anyone who 'trusted an honest face'. Vila hadn't been thrilled with the mission either, showing up at Avon's cabin later that night with a bottle of wine, and a grievance.

"That Tarrant's a Federation bully," Vila said without preamble. "Let's dump him."

"And who would fly the _Liberator_?" Avon replied, mildly, backing up to let Vila enter.

"You."

Avon raised an eyebrow.

"Cally. Hire someone. I don't care. He'll get us killed. He'll get _me_ killed."

Avon folded his arms and leaned against the wall. "As I recall you said that about Blake."

"Wish Blake was here." Vila sat down on Avon's bed, and opened the bottle. "Don't _you_ wish Blake was here?"

"Don't push it, Vila." Avon fetched a pair of glasses. "The return of the prodigal will only buy you a limited amount of tolerance." He watched as Vila poured the wine, and he took his, sipping it appreciatively.

"Tolerance. Is that all it is, Avon? You used to like me." Vila took off his shoes and stretched out on Avon's bed.

"Did I?" Avon threw Vila a blanket. "I presume there is something wrong with your own quarters?"

"Tarrant showed up. He wanted to apologize. Personally."

"So?" Avon sat down at the desk, and checked the latest print-out from Orac. No results. He swung the chair around to face Vila. "I would have thought that would please you."

"No. It just made me uncomfortable. He still doesn't understand. He thinks I'm angry because I nearly got killed down there."

"And you're not?"

"Well, of course, yes, that, but really, it was... it was just that he didn't care what I felt, what I wanted. And I didn't think you'd stop him, when he said if I didn't go down he'd dump me somewhere."

Avon sighed. "If that's what he threatened you with, you really are an idiot. Why would I allow him to reduce the- given a loose definition of the term- manpower on this ship?"

"That's right, make a joke of it. He doesn't care about me, you don't care about me. Even Blake didn't care about me. And there was Kerril... she _loved_ me and I came back to the ship, to _you_ and you don't care." 

"Quit snuffling into the sheets- my sheets." Avon got up and sat on the edge of the bed, moving Vila's legs over to make room. "I'll say this once, and once only, and if you repeat it, I'll deny every word. Tarrant is an asset to our survival. He's an excellent pilot, a courageous fighter, and a tireless worker. We need him. Learn to get on his good side."

"You don't," Vila retorted.

"I don't have to."

"Because you're an Alpha, too."

"Because I stood up to him. He respects strength of will, not subterfuge. It's too late for you to suddenly appear to have developed a backbone, so that leaves appeasement."

Vila heaved a great sigh. "It's like being in prison, inn't? Have to kowtow and kiss-up to get along." He turned on his side and let out another sigh. "Mind you, he isn't half-bad looking."

Avon looked at the bottle, and wondered how many 'dead soldiers' lay in Vila's wake. "Go to sleep."

After that, Vila spent the night as often in Tarrant's quarters as his own. Fortunately, neither of them made a fuss about it, and Avon suspected that Dayna had no idea. Cally knew, of course.

***

>   
>  Beloved,
> 
> Why have you made no attempt to call us? Are you... no, I will not think that, will not say it even in front of a computer.
> 
> You are alive. You must be. Cally would know. I would know.
> 
> Wouldn't we?
> 
> Where are you?
> 
> I am left with your ship, the remnants of your crew, and a reputation, none of which I particularly enjoy.
> 
> Is that it? Did you grow weary of being a legend?
> 
> Are you lying in the sun on some remote world, with a beautiful woman or handsome man at your side?
> 
> I can't see it. I can only see the fiery rebel. Are you recruiting cannon-fodder more willing than we were? Are you hiding in grimy alleys, and stinking of fear as yet another band of rebels is shot down before your eyes?
> 
> Are you lonely?
> 
> Do you miss me?
> 
> Are you happy?
> 
> For your sake, I wish it were so, but the thought of you being happy without me breaks my heart.
> 
> But then, no one would believe I ever had one.
> 
> Your Kerr.  
> 

***

Avon woke from yet another dream- no, let's be honest, another nightmare, about Anna, only this time Blake had been standing in the background. He'd said, "How could I love you, Avon? You said you loved _her_ , and you let her die. She trusted you too, didn't she?"

Avon sat up in bed, trembling with the suddenness of his awakening, then he got up and made his decision. _I'll put at least one ghost to rest._

***

Cally didn't like it, Vila and Tarrant didn't care, and Dayna- well, he could count on Dayna understanding revenge, which was as much as Avon had explained.

And then Servalan threw a spanner in the works by attacking Auron. Avon was annoyed to discover that Cally still had a sentimental attachment to the planet that exiled her. He was also annoyed to discover that Tarrant's chivalry/sense of camaraderie/quixotic heroism- whatever name you put to it, was still quite healthy.

***

"Avon." Cally moved away from her door, allowing him to follow her within her cabin. "You were right. It was a trap." Her voice was cool and controlled. If it wasn't for the minute trembling of her hands, Avon could have thought her unaffected by the extermination of her home planet.

"Yes. It was. Servalan is a monster on an unprecedented scale, murdering a world as bait for _Liberator_."

"It makes your revenge on this Shrinker seem petty, does it not?"

Avon smiled at Cally. "A life for a life. It's not much, Cally, but it's something I must do."

"I will never understand it."

"Of late, my paranoia has been unable to keep pace with reality. I should like at least one victory, however petty. Allow me that much."

"But your plan! You intend to hand yourself over to the Federation!"

"Orac has eliminated all the identification records. They won't know who I am."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? You goad them into torturing you, all in the hopes that one particular murderer will be assigned to you? This is madness, Avon. If you must do this thing, surely there is a safer way."

Avon shook his head. "Shrinker, like all the interrogators, is only listed in the computers by code-name. I don't even know if Shrinker _is _his name. This is the only way of drawing him out into the open. And I will have him, Cally. I must."__

__"Your Anna would not want you to do this."_ _

__"No. Probably she wouldn't." Avon smiled. "If she were here to protest, I do assure you, I would listen to her."_ _

__"If Blake..." Cally stopped herself, seeing Avon's sudden stillness._ _

__"If Blake were here, I suppose I might listen to him. But they aren't here. I am and this is something I must do."_ _

__"You are wrong, Avon. This time you are wrong."_ _

__"Possibly. Even probably. It doesn't matter. I must do it. It's as simple as that."_ _

__

____

***

> Roj, my dearest,
> 
> I am quite possibly going to my death while trying to avenge Anna. At least, I tell myself that is the only reason.
> 
> But you know me far better than that. They hurt you too. Orac couldn't find all the names, and you probably don't remember him, but Shrinker was one of the ones who worked on you the first time you were 'treated'.
> 
> He and his kind are part of the reason you aren't the man you should have been.
> 
> And they are part of the reason we met.
> 
> If you had never been tortured, never brutalized by the system, you and I would not have met.
> 
> I think about that on the nights when I cannot sleep. For me to have even the dream of you, it was necessary for you to suffer.
> 
> It's absurd to feel guilt over that, but I can manage to be quite absurd where you are concerned.
> 
> So perhaps I will expiate two guilty sins for the price of one. After all, what's the worst that can happen?
> 
> They can only kill my body. They can never destroy the memory of love, which is all I have left.
> 
> With all my heart,
> 
> Your Kerr.  
> 

***

And it was another mistake. Of course. Avon returned to the _Liberator_ after killing Anna, and accepted the glass Vila offered. He made it into the corridor before his knees folded.

***

Back in the medical unit, again, Avon knew before he opened his eyes. He knew from the firm resilience of the examination table he lay on, from the quiet clicking of the medical monitors, from the antiseptic smells. And from the soft breathing of the Auron who was always there when he woke in the medical unit.

"Vila," he said quietly, remembering an innocent glass of green liquid.

Cally said, "It was a kind thought. You had been interrogated for five days."

"And he assumed I would not have sense enough to see to my own welfare?"

"Was he wrong?"

Avon sat up and began methodically stripping the sensor disks from his skin. His various injuries had been treated, and he felt no physical pain. He would have preferred it over the internal pain, over Anna. Played for a fool, made to love a woman who didn't even exist. And worst of all, he still loved her. "Yes. He was wrong. I am a survivor, Cally."

Cally turned off the monitors, and looked at Avon calmly. "Yes. We all are." She rose and touched Avon's face gently. "Would you... would you like company tonight?"

Avon was moved by the offer, and took her hand, turning it over to place a kiss in the palm. Then he folded her hand up around the kiss, to preserve it. "No. But thank you. I would prefer to be alone." He rose and threw on the robe hanging over the back of the nearby chair and started for the exit.

_I would not,_ Cally's mind-voice came clearly.

Avon looked back. Cally was holding her arms around herself, as if hugging herself against pain. Her eyes were huge, and vulnerable. "It would not be wise, Cally," he said softly. 

"No, I suppose it would not. But I am very tired of being wise and alone, Avon." 

Avon turned suddenly, and put his arms around Cally. She was thin and wiry, and yet felt very feminine in his arms. She had very little in common with Anna, and less with Blake. And she was here, and she wanted him. Why the hell not? He was also tired of being wise and alone.

_The door is locked_ , Cally mind-sent.

"Planning?" Avon held Cally's face between his hands, searching those clear, alien eyes for deception.

"Hoping," she answered and reached up to pull him down into a kiss. _One night, Avon. Is that too much to ask?_

"No. It's not. You have the advantage of me," he told her. "I've never seen you naked." He lifted her and sat her on the examination table, still warm from his own body. She swept the remaining sensors off the table, then reached down to pull her tunic up and over her head.

"Ah, well, if _you_ had been clever enough to have taken the medical unit assignment in the beginning..." Cally laughed at his mock-outraged expression. 

"So much for medical ethics," he growled, shrugging off his robe. He reached forward to embrace her, and his fingers found the clasps of her brassiere, unhooking it in one smooth motion.

_Forgive me?_ Cally asked while kissing Avon's chest.

"I'll... I'll think about it." He liked her smooth, firm breasts and the way Cally gasped when he fondled them. He lowered his head to kiss her lips, opening his mouth to hers.

_Oh, hold me, Avon._

He felt somehow it was cheating that Cally could have her mouth full of his tongue, and still communicate.

_I want you. I'm ready for you._

Then again, it might be convenient. Avon lifted Cally clear of the examination table as she undid her trousers and slipped them down her thighs, reaching in with her thumbs to carry her silken undergarment down with them. He did admire efficiency. He set her back on the table and knelt to dispose of her boots, allowing him to finish stripping her.

Cally arched her back and smiled at him. _Come_ she sent, holding her arms out.

Avon went to her willingly. It was a trifle awkward, balancing on his knees above her on the table. "I hope these tables are sturdy," he said, not quite joking, as she reached up to stroke his penis, encouraging its growth.

_They held Gan. I don't think the two of us weigh more than he did._

"Probably not." Avon hated to rush, but Cally wrapped her long legs about his waist, and rubbed herself against him. It was an unfair tactic. One he would protest. Later. He gave her the tip, and she made a soft, pleased noise, and spread her legs even further.

"More?" he asked, beginning to have difficulty controlling his breathing. 

_More!_ she confirmed, managing somehow to lift herself high enough to engulf another couple of inches of him, her soft inner lips clasping his cockhead.

He thrust, sliding half his cock into her in one movement. Cally relaxed into it, her hands busily stroking his back, reaching down to fondle his arse, then back up again to tousle his hair and grasp him by the ears, trying to hold his head down for a kiss. He worked himself deeper, with increasingly vigorous hip-motions. She accepted him easily, rocking underneath him to increase the friction and the pleasure.

It was good. It was very good indeed. Avon closed his eyes, and concentrated on what his body felt, letting his mind drift. He pressed harder, and she moaned, a deep, throaty animal sound of appreciation that reverberated in his own chest. Harder he pumped, soaring, nearly there... he shifted so that he could support most of his weight with one hand and reached out with his other hand so that he could stroke the side of his lover's face, run his hand through those thick curls.... "Blake."

_What!_

Avon opened his eyes, startled to realize he'd actually said it out loud. Cally looked hurt at first, then her expression softened. 

As did Avon's cock. He started to pull out of her, but Cally wrapped her legs around his waist and held onto him so tightly he was afraid he would injure her if he forcibly parted them. "Cally, release me!" 

"No," she said out loud. 

"You may as well," Avon said, dropping his head, and putting his hands to either side of her neck. "I can't finish."

"Why?" Cally touched Avon's face, forcing him to look at her. "Because you love Blake?"

"I never touched him."

"But you loved him."

Avon sighed. "But I loved him."

"So did I," Cally admitted, "and I never touched him, either. Can we not comfort each other on our loss?"

Put that way, Avon admitted the logic of it, but his penis was not listening. "I still can't."

Cally frowned. "Think of Blake, then. What you would have liked to have done with him."

Avon closed his eyes. It wasn't fair to Cally, but he thought of Blake. Imagined Blake's body beneath his. Blake's hands- let those be Blake's hands on his back. With his eyes shut, it was almost possible to fool himself. He felt his cock hardening slightly and the legs around him loosened enough to allow him to move. He pushed in and pulled out in slow, careful motions, as slow and careful as he would be if he were taking Blake for the first time. 

The hands moved down to his buttocks and rested there, rising and falling with each slow, steady thrust. He felt himself softening again. "My...imagination... is not up...to the task," he panted, arms trembling under the nervous stress of the moment. "I'm... open to suggestions." He really hated to leave Cally unfulfilled and it wasn't simply a matter of pride. Cally deserved better. This was the only thing she'd ever asked of him.

Blake's...no, Cally's hand... no, damn it, for this moment, let it be Blake's hand, stroked over his buttocks, spreading them, touching between them, reaching... 

"Cally?" Avon queried, opening his eyes to see a determined look on her face.

"Will you let me?" Cally asked, and showed him something she must have rummaged out from the drawer beneath the examination table. A probe. A rather thick probe, glistening with some medical ointment.

Avon flushed. "Yes," he said, closing his eyes again, and summoning up an image of Blake. Blake, laughing on the flight deck, sharing some joke with Avon, probably at Vila's expense, but never mind, it was the laugh that was important. The glow in Blake's eyes when he was happy. The...oh! Blake's cock slipping into Avon's arse, pushing deep, that great, lovely thing hitting against Avon's prostate, sending joyful messages to Avon's cock and balls, telling him he was loved, that Blake wanted him, possessed him.

The cock slid in slowly, too slowly. "More!" Avon ordered, and Blake obeyed, ramming up him, filling him, kissing him inside as Blake's lips kissed his mouth. _Oh, Avon!_ he heard Blake's voice groan in ecstasy. Avon stiffened, and came, crying out in Blake's mouth.

And then opened his eyes to Cally, whose face was wet, and not with sweat. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, appalled at the sign of weakness in one who'd not cried over the slaughter of her people, the death of her home.

"No." 

Avon pulled out, and sat up, a trifle embarrassed to discover that the improvised dildo was still firmly clasped in his rectum. He removed it and put on his robe. Cally was still lying on the table. "Are you certain you're not hurt?"

Cally shook her head. Finally she sat up and looked at Avon. "I did not mean to do it, Avon."

"Do what?"

"I did not even know it was possible."

"What?" Avon grasped Cally's shoulders and gave her a shake. "What did you do?"

"Oh," Cally gasped, and her eyes flew wide, and she grabbed Avon's arms. "I found Blake. That _was_ Blake you heard. He was dreaming, Avon, dreaming of _you_."

Avon released Cally. "I don't appreciate the joke. I'm sorry I wasn't able to please you, but there was no need to pretend..."

"I did not! Avon, I did not!"

Avon left before Cally could get dressed, and he refused to answer her when she knocked at his door. He didn't want to believe her. If Blake really was dreaming of Avon, then why hadn't he tried to contact the _Liberator_? No, Avon might as well consider Blake dead, for all Blake cared about any of them. Cally had simply been trying to be kind, in her misguided way.

***

> _  
> Roj,_
> 
> _You're out there somewhere. Cally thinks so, but she may be deluding herself. Vila is certain you've retired to Paradise- that is, when he's not equally convinced that you were eaten by aliens, or are wandering, amnesiac, over the galaxy, looking for your identity._
> 
> _I don't think so. I think you are doing whatever you think best, without regard for those around you._
> 
> _And you will have gathered people around you. You will have your loyal followers, drawn to the warmth of your life-force, the purity of your convictions. Likely at least one of them has sense enough to protect you from your more extreme schemes._
> 
> _I only hope that he is better at the job than I was._
> 
> _Kerr._
> 
> __

***

The alien who took over Cally misjudged her strength. Cally wanted that telepathic union more than her own life, but not more than Avon's. It was, he thought, a great pity that they were not lovers, as he admired Cally's strength of will and her beauty. But you can't choose who you love simply because they are good co-workers, or admirable people, or even physically attractive. At least, Avon couldn't.

***

Ultraworld, and another alien 'got at' Cally. Really, Avon sometimes thought she was a magnet for them. Then they captured him and he was treated to an unexpected nap. He hadn't cared for the experience. As he was falling asleep, there was Blake again, shouting at him to get up and do something, that Avon would die if he didn't get up. 

He'd explained to Blake very rationally that in the first place he couldn't move, and in the second place that the aliens were merely going to store his mind, which was the only worthwhile part of him, and in the third place, Blake was dead, so Avon didn't have to listen to him.

That shut Blake up. Except that Avon thought he heard Blake crying, when he finally fell asleep.

Naturally, he didn't mention that hallucination to Tarrant or the others when they escaped.

***

For a change, Moloch wasn't after Cally, Servalan was caught in someone else's plot on Sardos, Vila was a hero, and the planetary population was successfully freed from a repressive rulership. Blake would have been pleased with their gratitude. Avon would have preferred a portable version of their matter duplicator, but Servalan's ships chased them away before he could return to appropriate one. All things considered, it was still a better outcome than they'd had lately.

***

The next trick went to Servalan. Vila tried to console Tarrant for the death of his brother, but Tarrant wasn't having any sympathy. Avon offered him revenge instead. Servalan had taken too many points in their galaxy-wide game. This time they stymied her at least.

***

And then the audio message came from Blake. "Avon. I've discovered something so big I need you to help me exploit it. Together we can do it, we _can_ destroy the Federation." There was a pause, followed by a deep, rich chuckle. "And, incidentally, it'll make us all wealthy beyond... well, perhaps not _your_ wildest dreams, but certainly Vila's. I've heard he's still with you, him and Cally. Thank you for taking care of them. I always knew I could rely on you. 

"There are encoded instructions at the end of this message. If you still trust me, you'll follow them and rendezvous at the appointed time. If you don't come...well, it's been a long time, perhaps you don't need me any longer. Blake, out."

That was Blake, all over. Even Orac said it was likely to be Blake, factoring in the filtering effect of the bounced transmission, and the normal vocal changes that would occur in the length of time since they'd heard from him. 

It was Blake. Blake, finally _needing_ Avon, finally admitting it. All right, so he probably meant that he needed the _Liberator_ and Orac, and possibly Avon's technical skill. Not exactly an admission of undying love, was it? 

Avon didn't care what it was. Blake was probably, if not lying, at least exaggerating. His discovery probably could be reasonably profitable, and potentially useful against the Federation.

A lot of probably, there. And none of it mattered, because the moment he'd heard that voice, he knew he was going to do whatever it asked. As always.

Should he tell the others? Avon pondered that question for less than a minute before deciding against it. They'd agree, of course, but first there would be discussion, and Cally would exchange knowing glances with Vila, who would smirk. Tarrant would be suspicious, and would have Vila's speculations about Avon's infatuation that evening, if not sooner. Even Dayna wasn't quite the dewy-eyed innocent, and would pick up on it.

No, he'd tell them when it was too late for gossip. Once Blake set foot on the ship, there'd be no time for idle speculation. And, of course, it would soon be bitterly obvious that there was no physical relationship between them. Avon wondered if Vila would rearrange his sleeping schedule to accomodate Blake as well as Tarrant. Or would Cally step in and claim Blake? Or even Dayna, who had a touch of hero-worship from her father's stories of Blake? Or, no... Tarrant and Blake? It made him cringe to think it. But Tarrant was tall, young, brave, full of idealism, handsome, all that Blake could possibly want.

It was stupid to torment himself this way. If only Avon could have the sight of Blake back again, that would have to do. And what if Blake didn't come back by himself? What if he had found Inga, perhaps?

Ah. Now _there_ was a distasteful thought. But again, it didn't matter. If Blake had bonded into a group marriage and had eighteen squalling brats by as many women and wanted to bring them all aboard, Avon would put up with it.

It was Blake.

***

Only, of course, it wasn't. 

Avon watched _Liberator's_ destruction with almost a sense of relief. It was over. That was the end. Blake was dead, and everything Blake had hoped to accomplish was dead with him. That was what happened to 'living legends'. They become dead legends. And they take their miraculous, marvelous, _indestructible_ ships with them. 

What a battle-fleet of aliens couldn't accomplish, Avon had managed all by himself. It was funny, really. If only one knew when to laugh.

"Avon."

Ah, yes, Cally. It _would_ be Cally. Without turning, Avon said, "I doubt Servalan will have left us much, but there should be basic supplies. After all, she couldn't be certain I'd fall into her little trap exactly on schedule." He opened a cabinet and began examining the packages labelled 'Dehydrated standard rations'. He wondered if it was composed of dehydrated standards. Desiccated morals- that fit Servalan's profile.

"Avon."

"I'd expect at least one weapon will have been left behind. In any sufficiently large group, there is always someone stupid enough to make that mistake." There was enough to keep them fed for weeks, not that he felt like eating, not that he could swallow past the tightness in his throat every time he thought of Servalan- _Servalan_ \- mocking him for his devotion to Blake. As if she knew. And she might have known. Her pet psycho-strategists had his records, his psych-profile. She certainly knew to make him jump through flaming hoops at the whisper of Blake's name.

_Avon._ Pity in that mind-voice.

Avon turned and looked at Cally, coldly. "I haven't time for this."

"You can't simply ignore what has happened and go on without speaking of it."

"Yes, I can." Avon tossed aside the rations' pack he was holding. "Survival demands it. Weapons, food, acquisition of local knowledge- these are our immediate priorities."

"But, Blake..."

"Blake is dead."

"Just because _Servalan_ said it?"

"Put that way... it doesn't matter. He isn't here and so can be no use to us."

"We can not simply lock up our feelings, Avon. It is not healthy."

Avon sighed. He didn't know whether it was because she was a woman, or because she was a telepathic semi-alien, but Cally did not understand him. She thought she did. "Then go off and have a good cry, if you must, but don't waste my time as well as yours."

"I don't expect you to cry."

"That's good, then, you won't be disappointed."

"But you should talk about it."

"Cally!" Avon stopped, clenching his fists against the sudden, irrational desire to strike out at her. "Go and help Vila. He thinks he's found a communications system. Possibly it can be enhanced into a serviceable distress beacon."

Cally reached out to him, then let her hand drop without touching him. "You won't let me help you, will you?" 

"It will help if you can get that beacon operational."

Cally nodded slowly. "Very well. But we will talk later."

The communications system had been sabotaged, but its repair fell well within the combined skills of Vila and Cally, so Avon felt no need to assist them. Instead, he took the single high-energy weapon they'd found, and left to reconnoiter and conduct a preliminary examination of the ship Servalan had promised them. Both by rights and by logic, Tarrant should have accompanied him, but Dayna was full of pent-up energy from her close encounter with Servalan and he deemed it wiser to let her expend it on a walk, rather than on destroying components they might not be able to replace.

Besides, some of the repair involved fairly heavy lifting, and Vila was already inventing reasons why he couldn't do it. 

It was snowing before they reached the given coordinates. Avon was not thrilled by the implications. If the weather could change that quickly, they could well be killed by natural causes.

Only of course, Servalan hadn't left that up to chance. Avon belatedly saw her entire plan when the link entered the ship. The hatch was open, inviting... Trap! his mind screamed, and he knew, knew exactly what she'd done. They ran, and the ship blew up, and they were unharmed.

That is to say, he and Dayna were unharmed. The rest of Servalan's plan would have taken care of her base already.

He and Dayna had barely begun the walk back when they heard Cally's death-scream. **_"BLAKE!"_** echoed in Avon's mind, and for a few seconds he was unable to move, then he resumed his course.

"That was Cally," Dayna said, shaken.

"Yes." Avon kept scanning for the primitives, for more of the snake/plant horrors that had nearly killed Dayna, for anything likely to be dangerous.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Dayna asked, her voice steady.

"It seems likely."

Dayna said nothing more.

***

The base was destroyed along with the possibility of an emergency beacon. Orac was damaged, which meant they could forget about using the computer to call for help. It was getting colder and they'd lost all the rations. Tarrant had been knocked out and was still unsteady on his feet.

And Cally was dead.

Avon didn't believe in malign curses or bad luck, but he did note that the two people who absolutely _knew_ of his love for Blake were now dead. Three, if he counted Servalan. She _must_ have died when _Liberator_ was destroyed. It was small consolation, though. He would have liked to have killed her himself.

***

> _  
> Roj,_
> 
> _Do you know? Did you hear her? Cally loved you, too, and she's gone._
> 
> _I don't think we... that's a laugh, we. What's left of the Liberator's crew isn't doing too well at the moment._
> 
> _It's cold, for one thing._
> 
> _Tarrant's unconscious, Dayna's furious, and Vila is, as always, oblivious._
> 
> _Oh, and Orac isn't really up to recording this message, but I've got in the habit of talking to him... it... and habits are hard to break._
> 
> _Like loving you._
> 
> _I haven't seen you in ... what is it, a year? Two? Can't really seem to focus anymore. It's been too long, at any rate._
> 
> _I do miss you._
> 
> _But I can't say I wish you were here._
> 
> _It's cold, for one thing._
> 
> _Kerr.  
>  _

***

Dorian's appearance smacked of another trap, although Avon wasn't quite able to see how it would have been planned. If Dorian was allied with Servalan and she told him _anything_ , she would have told him she meant to kill them all and therefore there would be no point in Dorian coming to Terminal.

It was a mystery that died with Dorian and his creature. Perhaps, Avon thought, I should start believing in malign curses.

***

Having inherited _Scorpio_ , Xenon base, and Soolin from Dorian, Avon began assessing his options, methodically pushing all thought of Blake out of his mind. Even if Servalan had lied and Blake was still alive, he'd made no attempt to contact the _Liberator_ , which had been such a powerful tool for his rebellion that Avon could only assume Blake had decided Avon's presence was an even-greater negative.

Blake would certainly not want to see the master of the _Scorpio_. Unless... unless Avon had something else to offer. Blake had appreciated Avon's expertise, and intelligence. If Avon could attract high-caliber scientists, could turn Xenon base into a think-tank, then that would be a contribution too valuable to turn down, wouldn't it?

He would casually hand out technological advances to various rebel groups- preferably the ones who could pay for them, until it came to Blake's attention. Then Blake would come to _him_ , looking for something Avon had, wanting something only Avon could give him. And Avon would be generous, and would share with his old 'crew-mate'. All in the name of the rebellion, all simple and straight-forward, nothing to ...wait, wasn't Avon supposed to be pushing Blake out of his mind? Why did he care what Blake wanted, why was he still seeking Blake's approval?

Avon screwed up the print-out where Orac had listed the names, specialties and probable locations of a dozen top-flight scientists who might reasonably be expected to dislike the Federation and tossed it in the disposer. 

He had a ship and a crew and a well-equipped base. He would damn well fight the Federation on his own, and for his own reasons.

***

Servalan lived. She had shed her skin like a snake, and continued her venomous trail to power over a mound of corpses. It was too grotesque to be true, and Avon made Tarrant repeat it several times before his brain could admit the possibility.

Dayna and Tarrant had acquired a preventative for the new pacification drug, Pylene 50. At least that would keep them safe from its effects. If there was a way of handing it on the rebels, he would have, but all the old contacts Blake and Cally had given Orac now seemed to have gone underground, and Orac was unable to locate any reliable- for that read, 'not totally incompetent' -groups in this sector. The rebellion was a patch-work of disconnected uprisings, scattered over a hundred worlds.

All right, then, Avon was on his own. He would simply tend his own patch of the universe, and watch out for his own interests. And the hell with the small 'Blake-voice' in the back of his mind that muttered about 'life involving all of us'.

***

Getting the Star-drive made Avon feel a bit better about the _Scorpio_. As Vila said, at least it was now the fastest hunk of junk in the universe. He had gone to his quarters on their return, and paced, thinking about the 'mission' and what had gone wrong, and why, and ways to avoid the same mistakes in future.

"Avon?"

"What is it, Dayna? I'm busy."

"Are you?" Dayna came into his room without asking permission. She looked angry. "Are you going to attend the funeral?"

"What?" For a moment, Avon couldn't understand what she meant. "Dr. Plaxton?"

"Yes. You remember her. The woman who died to save your life."

"It was her life, or all our lives, hers included. She must have realized that."

"Maybe she did. And maybe she thought that at least we would have the decency to honor her memory."

Dayna was adamant about this. It was ridiculous, but it would be easier to go along with it than to argue. He nodded. "All right. What do you want to do?"

Dayna relaxed, as if she'd been expecting Avon to fight her about the funeral. "Soolin and I gathered her remains. We'd like to bury her on the hill. You know, the one with the flowering trees. And we think you ought to say a few words."

"Me? I was the one who killed her," Avon said. "Are you quite sure it would 'honor her memory'?"

"You're our leader." Dayna left.

***

The funeral was a makeshift affair, but Avon granted the effort was an honest one. Vila had found a small container that was passably urn-like, and Tarrant had neatly turned back the sod beneath one of the finer examples of the shrubby white-blossomed trees that dotted the hill.

Avon was the only one in black. There was more wind at the top of the hill than he liked. It whipped at his hair, and pulled the words from his mouth. "Dr. Plaxton was a highly-regarded scientist, once the head of the Federation Space Drive Research Center. For whatever reason, she left the Federation and developed her ultimate work in isolation. Therefore she died alone, and her achievement went unheralded, but it is nonetheless a work of true genius." He turned away.

"That's it?" This time the protest came from Vila.

Avon paused. "She's dead, and we're alive. What more is there to say?" He continued walking.

"Never mind, Vila, " Tarrant said behind him. "You'd have better luck getting through to Orac."

"I bet Blake would have got a better eulogy than that!" Vila said.

Avon did not break stride.

***

> __
> 
> _Roj,_
> 
> _They think I'm going mad. I don't think so._
> 
> _Not yet._
> 
> _They also think I'm cold, cruel and calculating. Flattering, really._
> 
> _When you and I both know what I really am._
> 
> _Don't we?_
> 
> _Kerr._
> 
> __

***

"So you see if we recruit specialists, we can turn Xenon base into a viable asset. Dorian's laboratories are well-equipped, and the living quarters are more than adequate. With _Scorpio_ to ferry supplies, we should be able to carry on small-scale manufacture, as well as experimentation. We will, of course, also be searching for useful materials and potential allies to implement the results of our experimentation." Avon splayed his hands across the console, staring at his crew.

"But no fighting?" was Vila's question.

Avon essayed a smile. Judging by Vila's expression it didn't come out right, so Avon put it back in storage. "No more than is unavoidable. We haven't the ability to successfully conduct large-scale conflict."

"Here, here," Vila muttered.

Tarrant asked, "What sort of specialists? We can hardly spirit away the Federation's top weapons' designers."

"Orac has a list of scientists who are potentially disaffected and not under the Federation's immediate thumb." He turned to Dayna. "One of them you know. Justin. He specializes in neutralizing radiation contamination. There are a number of planets off-limits because of contamination, but containing valuable materials."

"Valuable?" Vila's interest was caught.

"Valuable in the sense of useful to us, to the rebellion," Avon specified. He looked at Dayna. "He was one of your teachers. You could convince him to join us."

Dayna hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe he's better off where he is."

Avon could see she was thinking about Dr. Plaxton. "I'd leave the decision up to you. Just go and talk to him. He's also a genetic engineer. Possibly he could develop a living cell that would synthesize the Pylene-50 preventative. That alone could save the rebellion millions of lives."

"Yes, that's true. My decision?"

"You and Tarrant will go. I won't even be on the ship. It will be entirely your call."Avon could see Dayna was wavering. From the few things she'd let drop, it was apparent she'd been quite fond of Justin. The urge to see an old...friend... could be quite strong. If it had been Blake for instance, what would Avon have done to see him again... no, don't think about Blake. Survival. Think about that.

***

"JUSTIN!" Dayna teleported up, still kneeling. "NO!" she screamed. "Put me down! Put me back with Justin!"

"Be sensible. He's dead, you can do nothing for him. We must go." Avon grasped her shoulders, and tried to hold her still, but she struck out frantically and broke free, running into the arms of the nearest person, Soolin.

"He's right, Dayna," Soolin said. "You can't help Justin."

"Servalan killed him. She's killed everyone!"

Tarrant was already at the flight controls. "And she'll kill us if we stay. We really have no choice."

Abruptly Dayna stopped fighting Soolin and let herself be led to a seat, tears still streaming down her face as they watched Servalan's ship disappear from the screen. "She kills everyone."

***

Dayna showed up at Avon's room the night after they returned to Xenon base, and for a moment he wondered if she was going to demand a memorial service for Justin, but there was no demand in her body-language.

She stood there, arms hanging limp at her sides, then she walked in and sat down on the bed. There was nothing provocative about it. She looked up at Avon. "She didn't have to shoot him. He was only trying to help me escape. What did it matter to her? She'd _got_ what she came for. And then they killed Og- after all that- just wiped out Justin and his work, for nothing. Why?"

"I don't know." Avon was never any good at offering comfort, and Dayna's dry-eyed grief was so unlike her that he had no idea how to respond. "If you're looking for a grand design behind human misery, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place."

"I don't know what I'm looking for. I just know I haven't found it."

"Welcome to the human race."

Dayna nodded and stood. "Well, I suppose you have something for us to do tomorrow. I'd better get some rest."

"Yes. I'll have something for us to do."

Dayna nodded again. "Good. I'll be all right. I just need to keep busy for a while."

"Yes."

After Dayna left, Avon returned to his bed and sat on the warm patch she'd left behind. Rest, she'd said, not sleep. She expected a ghost to keep her company this night. Avon knew that feeling well. He was glad Dorian's quarters were sound-proofed. It was bad enough he woke night after night with Blake's name ringing in his ears. It would have been intolerable to have the others know it.

He lay down to get what rest he could. Tomorrow he would contact the next scientist on Orac's list. Muller's android research sounded promising.

***

> _  
> Roj?_
> 
> _Are you listening?_
> 
> _I'm still trying, you know. I just don't understand it. It's almost as if someone knows my plans ahead of time... but no, it's impossible._
> 
> _No one can send any messages from my base. Oh, yes, I have a base. A modest one, but still, somewhere I can call... well, not home._
> 
> _I also have a ship, of sort, and I've still got what you would call a crew._
> 
> _Between the five of us, we have a wide range of skills, and some degree of intelligence. What we don't have is your luck._
> 
> _I'm tired, Roj._
> 
> _But I still have hope._
> 
> _Kerr._
> 
> __

***

Damn Tarrant! That circuit influencer would have... would have what? Would have been his ticket back into Blake's good graces? No, damn it. It would have been useful to _him_ , to Avon. He did _not_ need Blake. He didn't need any of them.

"Avon?"

"What is it, Soolin?" Avon continued checking Orac's circuits. He wanted to be certain the android's brief control of the computer hadn't done any damage. Or given Orac any ideas. It already had enough of its own.

"You need to go to the medical unit."

"No, I don't."

"You took a respectable-size charge. You were knocked unconscious."

Avon shrugged. "I'm fine now." He put the laser probe into Orac with a flourish, which was spoiled when his fingers jerked open and dropped the probe. He retrieved it and glared at Soolin, who merely crossed her arms and leaned back against the door of the work room.

"Vila bet two bottles of Dorian's best that I couldn't get you to go," Soolin remarked. "I'd share if I won."

Avon was tempted. There wasn't much left of the wine, and it was one of the few things that gave him a decent night's sleep. He'd been reluctant to rely on chemical help, but the wine was the mildest thing that still worked for him. He suspected they all knew it.

***

Soolin was cool and professional about it as she ran the diagnostic equipment. "Stress levels are high, and there's some minor nerve-shock, which this injection should correct," she commented, as she gave him a shot "but other than that, you're reasonably fit."

Avon nodded. "I'll expect the wine tonight. In my quarters." Soolin looked vaguely uneasy. Avon smiled and added, "Only the wine." He wasn't about to repeat the mistake he'd made with Cally. Soolin was beautiful, clever, and cool enough not to allow sex to affect their working relationship, but he hadn't the energy to spare for seduction. Even if he did, he wouldn't dare sleep with her, for fear of _sleeping_ with her.

***

Servalan _must_ have been peeved at them to spend her own funds on an assassin. Avon was particularly annoyed at himself for not spotting the real Cancer. Even when he was strapped down and staring up into her transformed face, he still hadn't got the idea. Too tired to think, that was the problem.  
They all needed a break, but he didn't see one on the horizon. Just let one mission go properly, that's all they needed to regain their sharpness.

***

Recruiting scientists had been a dismal failure. Avon decided to skip the personnel and go directly for useful materials. Orac found some interesting trivia about a Federation project. They were mining feldon crystals, a high-energy source, which was tremendously valuable- invaluable. And someone was already skimming off the cream, which made them vulnerable to blackmail. Avon had no objection to that. Provided it worked.

Which it didn't.

***

On the way back to base after the feldon debacle, Avon fell asleep on the flight deck. Blake was watching him and shaking his head. "You can't do anything right without me, can you, Avon? Admit it. Admit it and I'll come back to you."

"Blake! No, don't go..."Avon jerked awake, and looked around. Tarrant was the only other one on watch, everyone else being blessedly locked into soundproof sleeping alcoves.

"Avon?" Tarrant sounded concerned.

Avon rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm all right. Just a..." What? What could he call his obsession with Blake?

"Bad dream?"

Avon laughed, but it didn't sound right even to himself, so he cut it off short. "Yes, I suppose that's what it was."

"I could take the watch by myself. Why don't you get some proper rest?"

Avon shook his head. "Get me a stim-tab."

Tarrant frowned, but he got up and fetched Avon a pill. "These are for emergency use."

Avon swallowed the pill dry. "I'll try not to make a habit of it." That was better. He was now wide-awake. He still thought he heard Blake murmuring in his ear, but at least now he knew it was his imagination.

***

> _  
> Roj?_
> 
> _Where are you?_
> 
> _Kerr._
> 
> __

***

Avon was getting desperate. Orac said the Federation was after an unknown something on a planet infected with an unknown plague. No one with half a brain would have considered that an attractive proposition. So, naturally, _Scorpio_ had to check it out.

He found himself listening to Soolin's story about negative psi powers with an almost wistful yearning for it to be true. It would be nice to think that the unbroken string of disasters was the work of a vengeful alien spirit. Regretfully, Avon decided it was more likely that he just wasn't the leader Blake had been. 

The sand pushed Tarrant and Servalan together. Tarrant was too much the gentleman to get into details, and Avon did not press. He was angry at Tarrant, and at Servalan, so angry it took him a moment to realize his underlying emotion was jealousy and that made no sense, for he didn't want either of them. Well, not much. Servalan was beautiful despite her corrupt nature and Tarrant was handsome, despite his nauseating chivalry. But Avon didn't want either of them. It was conceivable that he was simply jealous of _what_ they had done. Counting back, Avon had sex with another person twice in the last... was it four years, five, six?... difficult to tell in space. And neither time an unqualified success. There was always Blake at night, in his dreams, and he was always disappointing Blake. He _had_ to win sometime. The law of averages must eventually allow him the victory.

***

Avon planned the Zerok caper meticulously. It had to work. It was a simple scam, the sort of thing he and Vila had prided themselves on, the sort of thing Blake would never imagine attempting. It would be very nice to be rich, to be able to buy safety, or at least the tools to eventually secure safety. 

He didn't trust Keiller, but then he didn't have to. All signs pointed to Servalan being behind Keiller. The scheme would benefit both of them. Servalan would get the gold, and Avon would get the cash. Their combined intelligence ought to make the plan a success. 

For once, he couldn't see how it could go wrong. So long as he didn't let the others know about Servalan ahead of time.

He tried very hard not to think how Blake would feel about him conspiring with the enemy. When he was wealthy, he could do anything.

***

Anything except outwit Servalan, it seemed. He risked everything and he lost everything while she walked away wealthy at his expense. He laughed until Vila slapped him across the face.

He caught Vila's arm, and held it, then flung it aside and went back to the sleeping alcove, taking Orac with him.

***

> __
> 
> _Roj,_
> 
> _Orac says he's found you. Maybe he has, but I don't like the sound of it. Bounty hunting? Whatever you're playing at, it feels worse than dangerous._
> 
> _Of course, you're not really doing it. Not you. But whatever you are doing, I don't think I want to see it._
> 
> _At least, not unless I can bring something to bargain with, to convince you to **listen** to me. _
> 
> _I still have plans. One of them **must** be successful._
> 
> _Kerr_
> 
> __

***

The tachyon funnel seemed too good to be true, but on the off-chance it actually worked Avon couldn't afford to pass it up. If it fell into someone else's hands...well, he was fairly certain whose long, silvery talons would be attached to the hand.

And he was right. With an entire galaxy to scheme in, why did Servalan have to keep drawing them into her plans? At least this time he managed to destroy the prize rather than give it to her.

He also managed to destroy Vila's last shred of faith in him. Avon was surprised that it bothered him.

No one showed up at his door that night to offer a word of comfort. So, they'd finally got the message. Avon wondered why he wasn't pleased about that. He didn't need comfort, so why did he miss the opportunity to refuse it? 

What he needed was allies. That must be what was going wrong. He would simply have to form an alliance. Orac had drawn up another list- this one of planets in the border systems, vulnerable to the Federation, but not yet under its sway.

***

At one time Avon would have been frustrated and angry as his careful plans fell into disaster but not now. He'd adapted to disaster, learned to figure it in amongst his calculations. He'd had Orac lay contingency plans before he'd called the rebel leaders to the base. It was always a possibility that one of them would already be in the Federation's pay.

He hadn't expected it to be Zukan, though. When he and Tarrant had visited the planet, Zukan's overwhelming characteristic was arrogant pride, pride in his planet's military prowess, pride in his self-sufficiency, even a proprietary pride in his daughter's intelligence and appearance.

Pity about Zeeona, but that would teach Tarrant a lesson. You shouldn't fall in love. It always... always led to pain.

So now they had a compromised base which was worse than useless. Even if Zukan hadn't given their location to the Federation, one of the others present at the meeting would, even if only in hope of securing preferential treatment for his people under Federation rule. All right, scratch one base. 

He didn't like this contingency plan. It was...distasteful for personal reasons, as well as just as likely to blow up in his face as not. But there comes a time when you must simply admit failure. 

Admit failure and go crawling back to Blake. His stomach clenched at the thought of watching Blake with his current lover... and there would be one. A man with a heart as big as Blake's always would have admirers. Blake was good at taking care of people, of caring, in general. He would take care of Avon's crew, make them proud and useful. He'd probably get them killed, but Avon no longer thought that was the worst thing that could happen. This slow, inexorable erosion of the spirit, that was worse.

So Avon would take all he had left and lay it at Blake's feet. Admit to all he had lost and beg for charity, accept the crumbs from Blake's plate with the humble gratitude of a starving mongrel. Probably Blake would break up the _Scorpio_ crew to integrate them with his own people. He might, out of kindness, allow Avon an isolated position working with Orac. Surely, he would not expect Avon to work _under_ his own people?

But he might. He hadn't trusted Avon, despite his last pretty speech on _Liberator_. He might want Avon kept under close watch, and away from anything vital.

Worst of all. He might accept the usefulness of the others, accept Orac, and _Scorpio_ , with its stardrive, and simply turn Avon aside. After all, once he had Orac, a computer expert was superfluous. Anyone could ask questions.

But there was no choice. Even that would be better than going on, going through the motions of being a rebel leader. Even if Blake merely took the others off his hands, and turned him out, it would be better.

***

> _  
> Roj,_
> 
> _I'm coming._
> 
> _I still have Orac and a fast ship. It's not much, but then, bounty hunting isn't exactly a glamorous occupation, either. Perhaps you'll like Slave._
> 
> _And as for the rest of my offerings..._
> 
> _Dayna isn't quite as enthusiastic as she once was, but if you point her in the direction of Servalan, you'd be amazed at the amount of mayhem she can commit. Tarrant's a good pilot. Probably better than Jenna. And quite heroically brave. Definitely useful to you, I'm sure._
> 
> _Vila is... well, at the moment, he's thoroughly disillusioned with me. Not that I ever gave him cause for illusions. But he still thinks fondly of you._
> 
> _As do I._
> 
> _Are you still as beautiful as I remember?_
> 
> _No, I won't embarrass you. You still have a rebellion to lead and you require respect.  
>  I can't pretend to lead anymore. If you have a job for me, I'll do it. I'll follow orders. I might even be able to keep from pointing out the flaws in them._
> 
> _Just don't ask more of me than that._
> 
> _And please, don't..._
> 
> _Don't what? I don't even know what I want._
> 
> _No, that's not true. I know._
> 
> _I want you to be the same man you were on the Liberator, even though I know you must have changed, as I have changed._
> 
> _I can't change my desires, though._
> 
> _When I see you again, it will be as if we were never apart._
> 
> _At least for me._
> 
> _For you..._
> 
> _Well, perhaps for the sake of an ex-comrade you'll turn a blind eye to any aberrations in my conduct. Give me time to learn again how to pretend that I don't love you with every breath I take, with every beat of my heart, with every endless night of longing... perhaps I'll even come to believe it._
> 
> _And at least, I will have seen you once more._
> 
> _Kerr._
> 
> __

***

Oh, god, this was worse than any of the scenarios Orac had extrapolated. Blake was changed, almost beyond recognition, into a hard-faced, filthy, Travis-marked, bounty hunter. Orac had told him the bounty hunter routine was a plot, just a ruse to fool the Federation.

Why had he listened to Orac? Why hadn't he stayed away, kept at least the illusion of Blake's courage and nobility? Why hadn't he simply stepped out of that shuttle over Malodaar?

_Scorpio_ was destroyed, Orac left behind with a self-destruct order, his people; the people he'd fought with, in all senses of the word, for years, the people he knew so well they were closer than the family that had disowned him, these people whom he loved and hated, they were dying because he couldn't stay away from Blake.

And Blake. Blake was dead at his feet, because Avon, in his blind emotional stupidity, had thought himself betrayed. 

Tarrant...was that Tarrant calling him? He looked up, away from the fixed stare of accusation on Blake's dead, blood-spattered face, and felt a vast sense of relief at the ring of Federation troopers. He would not have to live with the guilt of Blake's murder. 

He glanced down at Blake again, and carefully moved to cover Blake's body. He lifted his gun slowly, and felt his lips moving in a smile. _Companions for your death, my love. As many as I can._ And he fired.

***

"Avon!" A loud shout, accompanied by rough shaking.

Tarrant? Wasn't Tarrant dead? Oh, no, stun-shots! The Federation must have wanted them alive. He wanted to weep, but his eyes had forgotten that trick years ago. He opened them, expecting to see the inside of a cell, or worse, that tracking gallery, and Blake's body sprawled across the filthy floor.

At first all he saw was a ring of faces. Tarrant, Dayna, Soolin and a little further back, Vila. But the surroundings... the subliminal vibration, the quiet hum of instrumentation? Avon sat up abruptly, and looked around, orienting hmself. " _Scorpio!_ What?!" 

"Another bad dream," Tarrant said, averting his eyes, as if embarrassed.

Avon wondered what he might have said in his sleep. He glanced around. Orac was still tied down, in the safety harness he'd devised for it on learning of the blockage around Gauda Prime, everything on the ship was apparently in normal order. "A dream?" he muttered. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to drive out the vision of murdered Blake. "Yes. Of course."

"I tried to wake you," Tarrant said, "but you didn't seem to hear me."

Avon shook his head, trying to get the blood moving in his still foggy brain. "How long?"

"Well, you were sleeping for several hours before the nightmare."

Avon gave Tarrant a _look_. "I meant, how long before we reach Gauda Prime."

"We're in landing orbit now. Orac gave the correct clearance codes, and we've already passed the blockade," Tarrant spoke briskly, probably as glad as Avon to ignore whatever had been said in his dream. "Orac fed the landing coordinates directly to the nav-comp." He sounded a bit annoyed. "You could have trusted me with them, you know."

Avon shut his eyes a moment. "Yes. I know I could." He ignored the silence that his uncharacteristic admission caused, and rubbed his hands over his face, wishing for the luxury of a long, hot shower, or at least a damp washcloth. It was all still to do, then.

***

"Where to from here?" Tarrant asked as the engines idled to stillness, and the monitor showed nothing more hostile than a few isolated pine trees at the edge of the large opening in the forest. Orac said it had once been a farm, and they'd landed on what had been croplands. A bumpy landing, but not damaging.

"Orac has not been able to pin down the location of Blake's rebel base."

"If he has one," Vila put in. "If he's not really a bounty hunter."

Avon tried to control his flinch. "Orac...Orac denies the possibility."

"It's been a long time," Vila said. "People change. _You_ changed."

Avon was tired of Vila's veiled accusations, but he could not afford to bring Malodaar out in the open. "It doesn't matter. Whether he is a bounty hunter or not, he will behave as a bounty hunter. We merely need to provide the bait." 

"What bait?" Vila said. "You're not staking _me_ out there! I'm not expendable, Avon! Not anymore!"

"No. That will be my place." Avon rose, pulled his clip-gun from its holster and checked it before replacing it.

Tarrant said, "Are you sure you're up to it?"

"Yes. I do not require any assistance. I do not _want_ any assistance." 

"But you'll need back-up," Dayna said.

"Gauda Prime is not friendly to strangers," Soolin added. "At least, let me..."

They all went quiet as Avon looked at them, slowly, meeting each one's eyes in turn. "No." He did not bother with threats, but he was sure they could see that he would kill anyone who interfered. "I have a link with Orac." He held up a small electronic device before replacing it in his pocket. "If I don't call in within six hours, or if I send an alarm, or if you are attacked, then leave. As Soolin has said, Gauda Prime is not a friendly place. Orac has several contingency plans. Decide amongst yourselves which of them you will use. None of them includes attempts to rescue me. It would be futile, in any event. Blake's bounties have all been collected on corpses." He turned again and walked to the teleport, and this time no one said anything.

***

Orac had set the coordinates for the place listed as an administration center for bounty hunters, the one that Blake invariably used. Sooner or later, Blake would appear, either selling a body or registering his intent to hunt a new one. For a planet without laws, they were apparently meticulous about rules and regulations. 

Avon had taken the precaution of getting _Scorpio's_ crew registered in Gauda Prime's records, borrowing the names and reputations of well-known bounty hunters from off-world. If they insisted on leaving the ship, Orac would tell them their false identities, but Avon hoped they would be sensible for once. It didn't seem likely, though. Which was why Orac would not tell them where his teleport destination.

As per instructions, Orac had deposited him in a room listed as storage in the blueprints on file with the modern computer. It was dark and dusty, and held at least eight, hard-cornered, immovable objects. At least that was how many he'd barked his shin on in finding his way to the door. There was an bar of light under the door, interrupted at intervals as people walked past. He could hear their footsteps and even conversations, muffled and indistinct. 

He was so tense his back ached, and his jaw muscles were sore. It wasn't the thought that he might be dead in a few hours. He'd learned to live with dying. It wasn't even that dream... no, really, he didn't believe in precognitive visions. It was purely and simply that he would see Blake again. There. No sound in the hallway outside. Time to go.

Avon opened the door onto what could have been an administrative block in any office building on Earth. Perhaps the floor was a trifle shabbier, the ceiling lumes dimmer, but overall, his surroundings were much the same as the building in which he'd spent many dull years before he first turned his hand to fraud. 

It even had a centralized computer system. Orac had been irritated to report that it was listed as a pre-Tarriel cell model, which made it impossible for Avon to access the individual records. Blake's kills had been recorded here and sent on as part of a mass of data to a more modern planetary center. Blake was using the name Jake Hodge, which was close enough in sound to his own to make his response natural, but did not make the common mistake of sharing initials with his true name. Still, if someone suspected, it would be a red flag. 

According to the blueprints, the computer records' section was... Avon turned, orienting himself by the slight angle of the cross-corridors. There. He pointed it out to himself, and started walking.

***

"This is stupid." Vila said.

"Yes, you're probably right," Tarrant replied without looking back at Vila. He was crouched down in an alleyway across from the building Avon had teleported into, and was watching the men and women who entered and left.

"He won't thank us."

"No, that's true."

"Tarrant!"

"Go back to the ship, then."

Vila looked down at the toes of his dirty scuffed boots. "You know I can't. Dayna said she'd kill me if I came back without Avon."

"Um." Tarrant was already observing the building again. "And Avon told Orac not to tell us his teleport coordinates."

"That was funny about Orac, wasn't it? He said he couldn't tell us where Avon went, but if we wanted to, he'd put us down near the spot. Isn't like Avon to leave a loop-hole that big. Do you think it's one of those fraudian slips?"

"Quite possibly. Look Vila, either shut up and help me look for Blake, or I _will_ send you back to Dayna."

Vila grumbled, but he settled in beside Tarrant. "I don't know why it's got to be me."

"Because you and I are the only ones who know what Blake looks like, and I only know him from the wanted vids." Tarrant was being patient, and it showed in his voice.

"Oh, all right. It's not as if I owe Avon anything, but Blake... come to think of it, I don't owe Blake anything, but still, leave it up to those two and there's sure to be trouble."

"Vila. Look and don't speak."

"What if I see Blake?"

"Vila!"

***

Inside the building, Avon pressed flat against a corridor wall, listening. The computer room was small, and it sounded relatively quiet. Probably only a few technicians and clerks on duty. No problem. Go in, smile, try a bit of bribery, look up Blake's file. Find out if Blake really is a bounty hunter. But would the records show it? He shook his head. It was the only thing he _could_ check before deciding if he was actually going to wait for Blake. The thought _had_ crossed his mind that he could simply walk away from his troubles, leaving _Scorpio's_ crew to fend for themselves. Granted Gauda Prime was a poor choice, but when he considered how badly all his 'good' choices, aided and abetted by the galaxy's finest computer, had turned out, it didn't seem there was much difference.

He put on what he hoped was a neutral expression, and pushed open the swinging doors.

"Yes?" said the mild-looking woman on the other side of a glassed-in, opaque along the bottom, counter that stretched completely across the room. She was on the short and plump side and old enough to be someone's grandmother. Behind her, Avon could see several men of similar clerkish appearance, idling at old-fashioned computers. No one seemed particularly excited by his appearance, or their jobs.

"I'd like information on a bounty hunter."

"Yes?" she said, still looking totally uninterested. "Fill out this form, please. You'll need official clearance for any sensitive information, but numbers of captures, and efficiency- that is to say, average length of time expended per capture, are public record. That's what most employers wish to know."

"And what if I need to know more than is on the public record?" He held up a fair-sized ruby, one of the few remaining from the _Liberator's_ treasure room, just high enough over the edge of the counter that she could see the gem.

Her eyes flickered, widened, then returned to the bored, half-lidded expression of before. "Name of the bounty hunter?" she asked, briskly, hands poised above a well-worn keyboard.

"Jake Hodge." Avon tensed internally, watching her for her reaction. 

There was none. Her fingers punched a few keys. They waited several minutes while the computers apparently thought about her request and Avon grew increasingly edgy. A data-disk popped up in front of her, and she glanced at it, as if checking the name on it. She pushed it toward a slot leading to Avon's side of the counter, but held it. "Payment in advance, please."

Avon dropped the ruby into the slot, and retrieved the disk, his fingers clutching it tightly. "You may use the terminal there," she said, pointing out a computer access point on his side of the barrier, in the far side of the room.

He strode over and slipped the disk in. Blake's face came up. Thankfully, it was not the scarred and embittered man in his dreams. This Blake was older, yes, and tired, but there was still...well, no need to get emotional. It looked like Blake, but what did the computer say? Avon skimmed the records. Blake had been here for approximately a year and half, local time. He'd brought in sixty-three bounties. All kills. Yes, well, he already knew that. He checked the detailed records. Each was accompanied by a vid-still: Blake, standing beside what looked like a mortuary table- stainless metal with a deep groove running all around the perimeter. Blake's outfit changed from image to image, as did the background- apparently there was more than one table available to accommodate a rush on corpses- and so did the face of the body strapped to the slanted table, but Blake's expression never changed. Stolid, that was the word for it. A competent workman doing his job. 

Looking at Blake was no good. Avon returned to the beginning of the record, and began studying the people on the table. The fourth man looked familiar. Avon stared at the wide-open, silver-gray eyes, and he remembered. That man had been one of Avalon's lieutenants- a worse fanatic than Blake. In his wildest dreams Avon could not imagine that man ever breaking with the rebellion.

Avon swallowed. Blake knew that man better than Avon had. They'd had several heart-to-heart rebel chats. He couldn't have mistaken him for a crimmo. Numbly, automatically, Avon continued scanning. There were women among the bodies...one of them...no...Avon remembered that wide-eyed, innocent face, that long, blonde hair. Somehow Veron had made it from Earth to Gauda Prime, only to be slain by Blake. Avon stared at the young woman, her eyes fixed on space, a dribble of blood dried along her mouth. Kasabi's daughter was little more than a child.

Irrationally, Avon wished Blake had at least washed the dead girl's face before he claimed the reward for her corpse.

_I've been here too long._ Avon pulled the data-disk out of the reader and put it in his pocket, after a moment's hesitation. _I'll destroy it later. Vila shouldn't see this. No one should see this._ He turned. The room was still quiet. The woman behind the counter looked away from Avon as the outer doors opened and a rush of men entered, guns out and aimed at him.

Avon pulled his gun up, too slow, too damn slow, just as the first man fired. The world splintered then into separate images. He saw himself falling, superimposed over an image of his dream-Blake, that ruined creature, falling, the woman from the counter staring down at him, a ring of men's faces looking at him with anger... he was numb, paralyzed by whatever had hit him, breathing, but unable to do anything on his own, not even shut his eyes. One of the men kicked him, hard, but another grabbed the first one's arm, and said, "He was asking after Jake. He should talk before we kill him." Two of the men reached down to drag Avon up off the floor, a third one picking up Avon's fallen gun.

Avon's thoughts cleared as he was hauled out of the computer room, down the main corridor, then down a flight of stairs, with his feet banging against each step, the harsh breathing of his captors loud in the echoing confines of the metal stairwell. _They want me to talk, so they'll have to wait for this... whatever they've done to me... to wear off. That means I have a little time to think. To plan what to say, to do..._ But the survivor was on automatic, stunned by Blake's betrayal. _They intend to kill me whatever I say. Oh, but if I hold out long enough, Blake will come..._ And that was the worst. Knowing what Blake was, and still wanting to see him. _It doesn't matter. None of it matters. I **must** see Blake. Just keep telling them, I'll only talk to 'Jake'. That's all. Let me see Blake once more before I die._

***

"Here!" Vila straightened. "That's him! That's Blake!"

Tarrant looked at the rough-dressed man carrying a body over his shoulder. "That's him?"

Vila didn't sound happy, but he said, "Yes. I don't like this, Tarrant," as Blake placed the body on a trolley, removed one of its boots and put a tag around the foot, using a small tool he pulled from his pocket to make an impression in the tag. "What's he doing?"

"Claiming his kill," Tarrant said as the trolley was taken into the building through a side-door, Blake smiling and clapping one of the workers on the shoulder. Tarrant shook his head and said, bitterly, "Seems a pleasant fellow, doesn't he? Avon did say he favored the working-man." 

"What do we do now?" 

Tarrant glanced around. The workers had gone in and Blake was stretching and rolling his shoulders, working out the stiffness from carrying the body. He turned towards the entrance and Tarrant made up his mind. "Call him. I mean it, Vila, call him now!"

"But..."

Tarrant faded back into the shadows of the alley, behind a rubbish collection bin. "I'll cover you, but you've got to get him in here. Or do you want to go in bounty hunter headquarters after him?"

Vila gulped, shuddered, and then ran to the entrance of the alley. "Blake!" he called out in an agonized whisper, finding his voice and trying again, "Blake!" a little louder, almost audible. Once more, and desperation broke through the frozen ice around his vocal cords. "Blake!"

Blake turned, and his face looked puzzled and wary for a moment. 

Vila waved from the mouth of the alley. "Here, Blake!"

Blake grinned and ran to Vila. "Vila!" He grabbed Vila around the shoulders, picked him up, and whirled with him in his arms. "Vila, I never thought I'd see you again. Where's Avon?" He looked around.

"Er." Vila wriggled out of Blake's grasp, and backed up into the alley. "This way."

Blake followed. "I know, Vila, I ought to have tried to contact you sooner, but..."

Tarrant rose from behind the bin, gun leveled at Blake's mid-section. "I'm just as glad you didn't. Stand still. Vila, get his gun and check that he doesn't have any hidden surprises."

Blake stood still, frowning at Tarrant as Vila frisked him. "Who are you?"

"Tarrant. Del Tarrant. And yes, there's a healthy bounty attached to my name. But it's not one you'll be collecting."

Blake's frown deepened. "I'm not a bounty hunter."

"According to Orac, you are. And a very successful one, at that. Now, what have you done with Avon?" Tarrant demanded to know.

"Nothing! Damn it, I've been using the bounty hunting..."

"Right, as a way to raise money for rebellion," Vila said, "It's still a dirty business. You can't wash blood money clean."

"Oh, for the...look, Vila, rebels come here, and I _officially _kill them. Their names are taken off the wanted lists, and they're free to continue the fight. This whole planet belongs to the rebellion!"__

__"What about the blockade?"_ _

__Blake looked back at Tarrant again. "If you're sent here by the rebellion, you're given the clearance code and they let you land. Otherwise, ships get chased off, given a good scare and a warning not to come back. How did you get through?"_ _

__"Orac." Tarrant looked at Blake thoughtfully. Orac _had_ denied the possibility that Blake actually was a bounty hunter. It hadn't said what he _was_ doing. _ _

__"Look, this is a waste of time. Let me see Avon. He'll vouch for me."_ _

__"Why should he, if Vila won't?"_ _

__Blake sighed. "Vila's frightened. He's not thinking clearly. Avon's always clear-headed."_ _

__Tarrant made his decision. "Well, not always. He's in there." He pointed to the building Blake had been about to enter. "Looking for you."_ _

__"In there? That may be trouble. How long has he been gone?"_ _

__"Over four hours."_ _

__"Too long." Blake's face went grim. "My people will have thought he was a Federation spy. They can be over-protective."_ _

__"Avon can take care of himself," Vila said, but he didn't sound too sure._ _

__"Vila, every single person in that building is a member of my organization. I don't want him killing them, any more than I want him hurt." He hesitated, looking at Vila and Tarrant. "If I let you go in with your guns, I want your word you won't harm any of my people."_ _

__"If you _let_ us?" Tarrant asked, astonished. "I think you've forgotten who's holding the gun here."_ _

__"No, I haven't forgotten." Blake tilted his head back, and looked up._ _

__Tarrant followed his gaze. There were two people on the roof, aiming weapons down into the alley. "The whole planet, did you say?"_ _

__"The whole planet." Blake nodded. "There are spies, of course, which is why the charade continues."_ _

__Tarrant sighed and lowered his weapon. "Why didn't they shoot us right away?"_ _

__"Meetings are often tense," Blake replied. "We're used to that. I try to train them not to jump the gun." He waved in a complicated pattern, and the two rebels nodded back, but they kept their weapons ready._ _

__Vila was still staring upward at the guns high above his head. "Oh, and I appreciate that, I really do."_ _

__"Come on," Blake said, and led Tarrant and Vila out of the alley, without looking to see if they were following._ _

__Tarrant said, "I could have killed you before they could stop me."_ _

__Blake nodded again. "Yes. It's a risk, all right. Jenna's not too happy about it."_ _

__"Jenna? You're still together, then?" Vila asked._ _

__"As together as we ever were. I never could give her everything she wanted, so she's settled for friendship and the pick of the rebellion's ships. Not a patch on _Liberator_ of course, but she seems happy with it." Blake reached the front door of the building. "Well, are you coming?" he asked as Tarrant and Vila hesitated._ _

__"I am," Tarrant said. "Vila's not."_ _

__"What?" Vila said._ _

__"Go back to the ship. Tell the girls what's happening. Stand by the teleport," Tarrant ordered. "Now, Vila!"_ _

__Vila raised his arm and called for teleport, vanishing almost as soon as he finished speaking. Someone had been very quick._ _

__"So you still have teleport?" Blake said, in a not-quite-casual tone._ _

__"Still?"_ _

__"I had heard that _Liberator_ was destroyed."_ _

__"And Cally died."_ _

__Blake was silent a moment. "That I hadn't heard. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "Let's go retrieve Avon."_ _

__

____

***

"Jake!"

They were barely two paces into the building when a man called out to Blake.

"What is it, Heath?" Blake strode over to the man. 

"There was a stranger, asking after you." Heath looked at Tarrant, questioning.

"Don't worry about him. He's with me. What happened? What happened to him?"

"We got him, no problem."

"Is he alive?" Blake's fingers dug into Heath's shoulders.

"Yes, yes." Heath stared up into Blake's face. "He's in the basement, being questioned!"

Blake growled one word, a very filthy expression Tarrant had rarely heard outside of spacer's bars. "Come on!" he snapped over his shoulder at Tarrant as he pushed Heath out of the way, and broke into a run.

***

"No," Avon muttered as his arm was drawn up even more tightly behind his back. "No. Talk to Jake... only..." Avon couldn't stop the scream as his arm went that one last inch higher that it should and he felt the shoulder muscles tearing.

"What the Hell is going on here!"

_Blake. At last._ The pressure on Avon's bound wrists was released and he fell forward. He shut his eyes, expecting to hit the floor again, but he was caught, and held.

Held tightly against a broad chest. "Avon, Avon, oh God, Avon, are you all right?"

Avon looked up through the one eye that could still open. Blake. Blake was holding him, and Blake was crying. Blake was brushing the hair out of Avon's eyes, and touching so gently that it almost didn't hurt, the horrible agony in the center of his face where they'd smashed him into the wall. "Oh, gods, Avon." 

Tarrant was beside Blake, whispering things into Avon's ear as he undid the ropes that bound Avon's hands behind his back and the ropes that held his ankles together. 

"Your poor face," Blake murmured.

"Only the nose," Avon managed to get out. "No great loss." He didn't care if they'd cut it off. This was _his_ Blake. Whatever Tarrant was saying, it didn't matter. Blake was here and he was the _right_ Blake, not the Travis/Blake of his dream, or the worse nightmare of the man in the computer records.

"Ah, Avon," Blake said, then he quickly looked away. "Get the doctor!" he snapped, rebel leader once again. He got up somehow, with Avon still held in his arms. "And get a blanket!"

As part of the humiliation process, Avon had been stripped. He'd minded it then more for the loss of the warmth and the protection against blows, but, held in Blake's arms, he minded it now more because he could not hide what being this close to Blake did to him, even now, even in such pain that he could barely speak. He shut his eye, irrationally thinking that if he didn't see his erection, no one else would.

"Here." Sound of cloth, rustling. Tarrant, sounding embarrassed. Warm fabric, draped over him, and tucked around.

Avon opened the working eye. _Not my color_ he thought as he noticed Tarrant's blue-gray tunic was covering him.

***

"You'll be all right, Avon, all right. Everything's all right." 

Avon wondered how long the litany had been going on. Blake's voice sounded odd. Not quite hoarse, but certainly not his usual tones. Blake sounded... upset. Worried? Perhaps Avon should reassure him. He started to talk, but found himself coughing, then curled up around the pain in his side that the cough broke free. Now that he was more awake, he noticed there was a fair amount of pain in a general sort of way, over most of his body.

"Avon! Lie still." 

Big, warm hands running over his back, soothing. Barely touching the worst places, where thick padded bandages added to Avon's stiffness. Touching him all over... It was too much, and Avon fought to control the coughing, fought to regain his voice. He had to stop this. 

"Vila."

"What?" Blake said.

"Vila's here. I brought him... back for you." 

"It's all right. Your crew is safe," Blake said. "They're all safe."

One eye was bandaged, but the other could still open. Avon managed it on the second try. Blake's face was there, close. Close enough for a kiss, if Avon's nose wasn't a throbbing, hugely bandaged obstacle between them. If Avon's mouth wasn't sore. If Avon dared. "Your lover," Avon said, "I brought him back to you..."

"Yes. You did." Blake's eyes were very shiny. Avon hoped he wasn't going to cry again. It always made Avon uncomfortable when people did things he couldn't.

"Vila." Avon tried again, hoping that Blake would accept Vila again. Let Avon write his letters again, see the particular smile Blake would always have the next day after getting one of Avon's... Vila's love-letters. Avon needed that, needed to see Blake happy again. 

"Vila's not my lover."

_Too late._ Avon sighed. _You knew he would have another lover._

"Vila was _never_ my lover."

Avon frowned, trying to understand. Blake shifted him carefully until he was resting against Blake's side, leaning the less-battered part of his ribcage against Blake's warmth. "Avon, have you ever heard of hand-writing analysis?"

"What?"

"That first letter on the _London_."

_Oh, Vila, you idiot. I **told** you to re-write that!_ Avon felt his cheeks burn with shame. He scrambled for an explanation. "I sold it to Vila."

"And the others?" Blake's hands were still stroking, and his voice had deepened to a rough, affectionate burr.

"Them, too."

"What, after we were on the _Liberator_ and had the treasure room? After you won ten million credits?"

"Five. Vila got half," Avon corrected Blake automatically.

"Vila got half. And what did you get?" Blake gently tipped Avon's face up, and Avon could no longer deny what he'd heard in Blake's voice. It was shining too clearly in his eyes. Love. Blake... _loved_ him?

"I..." Avon couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply turned his head and burrowed into Blake, who petted the hair at the nape of Avon's neck.

"Avon. Kerr. You silly bugger. I've known for certain since that night in the med-unit. When Vila argued with himself."

"Why didn't you say anything, then?" Avon muttered, clinging to Blake.

"Because _you_ hurt me, and I thought that was what you'd meant to do. I thought you hated me, and were taking revenge for being coerced into following me."

Avon flinched, and shook his head when Blake stroked his back. He still couldn't bring himself to look into Blake's eyes again. It had _burned,_ that look. "No. Never. I hated the risks you took, not you."

Blake heaved a great sigh. "And I suppose I'm a silly bugger, too. After I got over- well, a bit over- feeling hurt, I thought I might as well get as much use out of you as I could for the rebellion and not take your games personally. But while the rest of you lies quite well, your eyes are too honest. Your eyes loved me, Avon. I couldn't stand the contradiction. After a while, I just had to leave."

"Ah." Avon tightened his grip on Blake's shirt. "I understand. It tore my heart to see you, and never..." Avon tried to press even closer to Blake, despite the pain. "When I first saw you it was like an electric shock. My whole body... I wanted you so desperately..."

"Then why didn't _you_ say anything? Why did you sell me to Vila? Once I realized that you loved me, I assumed that you'd only discovered it after you were committed to that daft deal you made with him. I loved you from that first letter. I probably loved you before that. When I first saw you, I told myself it was just infatuation, because you were so beautiful, but..."

Avon's harsh, nearly hysterical laughter interrupted Blake. It was several minutes before Blake could soothe him enough that Avon could stop it. "Beautiful? Blake, are you blind? Didn't you see my nose?"

Blake laughed. "Yes. I also saw your eyes, and your mouth, and your arse. Your hair, and your hands. Your cheekbones..." Blake sighed. "Your skin... and the way you'd flaunt yourself on the flight deck with those tight leather trousers. And I thought, well, he's gorgeous, but he's just a tease. Vila loves me and his letters are so beautiful. It was months before I noticed the first one was different, and months after that before I managed to get a sample of your hand-writing to compare."

"Then why didn't _you_ say anything."

"Because I kept telling myself, he's playing a game with me. The first one to admit it, loses. I was afraid you would run halfway across the galaxy if I confronted you. I didn't want to lose what little I had. Your letters kept my soul alive."

Avon wasn't used to feeling like an idiot, except where Blake was concerned. "I'm sorry."

"Now, Avon, keep your promise. You told me you'd find me, and then you'd tell me anything you wanted to know."

"I was trying to save your life!"

"Yes, well, you can finish the job now."

"What do you want to know?"

"Avon!" And Blake did not _quite_ shake him.

"Oh, all right. I... well, I'm not entirely unaware of your charms."

"AVON!"

"I..." Avon took a deep breath, and said, "love you."

"There now," Blake said softly, kissing the top of Avon's head, which was one of the few places that didn't hurt. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Sentimentalism... ow."

"What's the matter?"

"I think we'd better continue this conversation later," Avon said sourly. "When the bandages come off."

Blake laughed.

***

Blake stood over Avon, double-edged blade in hand. "Stand still!" he ordered.

Avon let out a long-suffering sigh and stood, as directed, while Blake slid the blades of the scissors under the edge of Avon's ribcage bandages. Avon flinched. "That's cold!"

"If you can't cooperate, then the deal's off." Blake pulled the scissors out without cutting.

Avon opened his mouth to protest, then shut it as he saw the sincerity in Blake's eyes. "I can cooperate. It's not that sensitive."

"Really? The bandages could stay on another week." Blake made little snipping motions in the air. "The doctor said..."

"The doctor said it was up to _me_!"

"That's only because you've been nagging him."

"Would you really like to wait another week?" Avon said softly, letting his eyes rake up and down Blake's body. "Another week of cold showers? Another week of sleeping in separate beds? Another week of..." he was cut off abruptly as Blake kissed him.

"No, I don't want to wait," Blake said, "but I don't want to chance hurting you, either. We've done enough hurting each other to last a lifetime.

"Well then, just take off the bandages, and we'll see how it goes."

Blake wavered.

"Look," Avon said, leaning in close. "My nose is healed." He kissed Blake with his eyes open, turning his head so their noses danced past each other, and he breathed on Blake's cheek as their lips met.

"So it is," Blake said, rather breathlessly as Avon ended the kiss, slowly.

"So my ribs must be, mustn't they?"

"Can't argue with logic." Blake picked up the scissors again. "But you will stand still this time."

Avon put his hands on Blake's shoulders, and spread his legs slightly. "How's this?"

Blake was breathing a bit faster. "Fine." He knelt and slid the scissors in place, and began cutting.

The last curl of bandage fell, and Avon took a deep breath, assessing the sensation of cool air on skin too long kept wrapped. "All right, you can get up now, Blake."

"No, I don't think I will, just yet." And Blake leaned forward and wrapped his arms about Avon's hips. "If you can hold still for this, then I'm willing to leave the bandages off." He touched his lips to Avon's penis, which had already been responding to Blake's presence.

"Ah! That's... that's blackmail!"

Blake sucked the tip in, then released it and sat back. "I prefer to think of it as negotiating from strength." And he returned to his task. 

"Ah. Well, then... well, ah... I suppose we should talk terms..." Avon clung to Blake's shoulders, fighting the urge to thrust. Blake was moving rapidly back and forth on his cock, swallowing it deeply, massaging it with his throat muscles.

Less than two minutes later, if either of them had been watching the clock to know, Avon whimpered and came as Blake gulped and stroked his thighs. He folded up, and Blake caught him on the way down.

"You next," Avon said, from his damp sprawl. 

"Later." Blake pulled Avon into his lap. "First I want to enjoy holding you without being afraid I'm hurting you."

Avon sighed, and made an attempt to look annoyed. It wasn't a very successful one. "Don't get over-protective." Avon stretched his neck to allow more kisses. After a moment, a thought occurred to him. "Was that it?"

"What?" Blake mumbled, being distracted by the taste of Avon's nipples.

Avon arched his back, then brought his mind back to what he was saying. "Towards the end, on _Liberator_ , you wouldn't have me go down on missions. I thought you...ah...thought you didn't trust me."

"I didn't trust _me_." Blake paused, and leaned back, taking Avon's face between his hands. "I was too aware of you. I couldn't afford the distraction."

"And it had...ahh...nothing to do with...umm...yes, go ahead," Avon said as Blake's hands kneaded his buttocks. "Where was I?"

"I don't know." Blake was breathing more heavily.

"Ummm. Oh, yes, you weren't trying to keep me out of danger, were you?"

"Keep you out of trouble?" Blake grinned. "I'd have to tie you down to my bed. Not a bad idea, really." He stood up and pulled Avon with him.

"I'd get bored."

"Oh?" Blake's fingers were running up and down Avon's backside, hands circling over and over again. He stepped towards the bed, and Avon retreated in step.

"Well, not right away." Bed edge behind his knees, Avon stopped retreating, and began planning his surrender. Still a bit wary of his ribs, he managed to turn his landing on the bed into a controlled fall, with his arms striking the surface first. He propped himself up on his elbows, waiting.

"How long do you think it would take?" Blake asked as he opened a tub of creme, and ran his fingers through the translucent contents. It smelled like wildflowers and spice. 

"How long?" Avon's eyes were gazing at Blake's mid-section and his tongue went out to slide across his lips. "About eight inches I'd say."

Blake chuckled as he knelt on the bed, hovering over Avon. "I don't think you're listening to me."

"A pillow," Avon said, raising his hips.

"Now you're giving me orders," Blake complained as he slipped a pillow under the small of Avon's back and urged Avon's knees up and apart, settling himself between them.

"Well, someone has to." Avon gasped as Blake slid several greasy fingers between his cheeks. 

"Not in practice, are you?"

"At the risk of inflating your...ego, no, I can't say that I am." Avon didn't like admitting it, but far less did he like the idea of lying to Blake.

"Ah." Blake's glow repaid Avon for his honesty. "I'd wondered. You did manage to assemble a very attractive crew."

"Luck of the draw."

"Not that I have any right..."

Avon put a hand on Blake's arm, stopping him in mid-caress. "You have _every_ right." Avon lay back and grasped his knees, pulling them higher, and further open. He was gratified that his penis had reawakened, much sooner than he thought likely. "Do it."

"How romantic." Blake spread more cream deep within Avon's arse, then slapped a handful on his cock, going stock-still at first touch, then breathing deeply.

"I just don't like waste." 

"You're still tight," Blake commented after reinserting his fingers into Avon.

"BLAKE!"

"All right, all right." Blake grasped his twitching cock and placed himself in position. He thrust and Avon arched against Blake, fighting the instinctive urge to clamp down against the invader, feeling his cock soften at the discomfort.

_It's Blake. It's Blake. It really is._

Blake groaned. "Can't..." He pushed hard, half-sheathing himself, and Avon's eyes went wide as he was forced open. 

_It's Blake, damn it!_ Avon ordered his arse muscles to relax, but they weren't listening to him any more than Blake ever did. Blake reared above him, grunting and sweating as his self-control broke, thrusting hard, balls-deep with every stroke, hands clenching into Avon's shoulders as he pinned his lover to the bed. _It's... ahhh._ Avon's body finally surrendered and the rough strokes became exciting, rather than uncomfortable, and his penis firmed again. He reached between them and began pulling on himself, at first trying to match Blake's rhythm before giving that up as impossible and simply letting himself be slammed back and forth by Blake.

They were making a considerable amount of noise and the old-fashioned mattress was squeaking in counterpoint, so it shouldn't have been too surprising that they didn't hear the bedside comm. unit, or, several minutes later, the room announcer.

Avon's legs wrapped around Blake's waist, and he arched his back, pumping himself on Blake, opening fully to accept all that Blake had to offer. Blake's hands slid down to Avon's arms, tightening with bruising force. Avon rejoiced in the strength, the power of it, writhing beneath the heavy weight and forcing Blake to work harder at pinning him down. _Blake. Oh, Blake. At last, at last._ Avon's head tossed from side to side, with Blake following him, kissing frantically between gasps for air.

With a final bellow of 'AVON!" Blake finished pumping and collapsed, fortunately seconds _after_ Avon's equally loud orgasm. They lay entwined with Avon waiting for Blake to wake up, reluctant to shove him off, even though it wasn't altogether easy breathing with Blake's weight pressing on his chest.

Slowly Avon began to be aware that something was different. Something besides the warm and sticky substance gluing them together. Something besides the well-fucked, satisfied ache in his arse which still held Blake's shrinking organ. Something besides the luxurious, all-encompassing embrace of Blake's hot body compressing Avon into the tangled bed-sheets. He pried his eyes open and shifted his head far enough to see past Blake's broad shoulder.

His lips peeled back in a snarl. "Vila! You're dead. Just as soon as I can get up, you're dead!" But he spoke softly, not wanting to wake Blake.

Vila smirked. "That'll be a while, I'll bet." He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Blake's back.

"Don't," Avon said, before realizing he was going to say anything. His arms tightened around Blake.

"No. I won't." Vila said, pulling his hand back. "I just came... well, I came to say 'good luck' with him. And to give you this." Vila fished in his pocket and came up with a bedraggled piece of paper which he laid on the bed. "I stole it from Blake, after I broke up with him." Vila shrugged. "I wanted to hurt him, and it was the only thing he really cared about. He never loved me, you know. And well, I came because I just had to see the two of you together, just this once."

Avon tightened his grip around Blake. "If you've seen enough, then you can go away."

"I didn't think you'd mind. I figured you'd be the last to blame anyone for being nosy." Vila almost managed to say it innocently enough.

Avon thought about it for a second. His nose. All this fuss and bother and grief, all over his ugly nose. He started laughing.

Blake shifted against him. "Vila," he growled, in a sleep-deepened voice, "no more nose jokes. Now get out, so I can finish fucking Avon into next week."

Vila brightened. "Next week? A whole week off from the revolution? I'll tell Tarrant and the girls!" And he ran out of the room.

Blake kissed the tip of Avon's nose. "I _like_ your nose."

Avon ran his hand through Blake's curls, and was very nearly content. "In that case, how about two weeks off from the revolution?"

"Two weeks in bed?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Hmmm." Blake found it difficult to articulate as his mouth was currently full of Avon's tongue. After several minutes of mutual exploration, Blake pulled back a few inches and said, "Well, why not?"

And Avon smiled.


End file.
